Head and Heart
by EKWTSM9
Summary: Sometimes we don't know the people we're closest to as well as we think we do.
1. Chapter 1

The one-sheet form drifted almost languidly onto the desk, coming to rest on top of the sheaf of papers he was referencing. Scowling, the black receiver seemingly glued to his left ear, Inspector Steve Keller looked up at Sergeant Norm Haseejian's retreating back as he snatched up the offending sheet and slapped it down onto the rapidly growing pile on the far corner of the overburdened desk.

Looking back down at the list of questions on the yellow legal pad before him, putting his right index finger against his right ear in an attempt to dull the cacophony from the bustling room around him, he leaned over the desk even more. "Yes, Mr. Moore, Douglas Fraser. We were told he was a tenant in your apartment building, is that right?"

He squinted involuntarily, trying to hear the soft-spoken superintendent on the other end of the line. "Yes, Douglas Fraser…. F-R-A-S-E-R… Yes, yes, I can wait…" With a frustrated sigh, he took his finger out of his ear and lowered the receiver. He waggled his head back and forth, trying to work the crick out of his neck, using the brief break to look around the bullpen.

It was abnormally busy. A freakish early summer heat wave that had dragged on for two remorseless weeks had had a bad influence on The City. Tensions were running high everywhere, it seemed; tempers seemed to be fraying at every turn. Traffic was reporting a dramatic increase in accidents as both drivers and cars overheated in the soaring temperatures; assaults were up and, unfortunately for the detectives who toiled in room 450 in the Hall of Justice, so were murders.

Most, it seemed, were the result of simmering rage and short fuses. They were easy to 'solve' but that didn't cut down on the man hours that had to be expended and paperwork that had to be completed for each and every case.

And the entire SFPD was labouring under a hiring freeze that had been in affect for almost a year. Every department was understaffed, with no relief in sight.

Suppressing another involuntary sigh, Steve brought the receiver back to his ear as he glanced towards the open door of the empty inner office, the grey fedora sitting like a lonely, patient sentinel atop the metal coat rack. His partner and superior officer had been gone a little over an hour. He knew Mike was once again in a meeting with the higher ups, once again lobbying for an increase in manpower that everyone knew was a quixotic quest. He could only imagine the foul mood the lieutenant would be in when he finally returned.

Suppressing a shudder, Steve snapped to attention when he heard Moore's voice once more in his ear. "Yes, Mr. Moore, I'm here… yes… yes…" He jotted several things down on the yellow legal pad. "Great… yes, thank you very much, Mr. Moore. Good-bye." He set the receiver on the cradle without looking, staring at the information he had scribbled down so quickly. He exhaled loudly, pleased with what he had uncovered. He reached for the small Rolodex across the desk and flipped the cards until he found the one he wanted. Fifteen minutes and two phone calls later, he had all the information he needed.

Still looking at the desk, he got to his feet, starting to roll his sleeves down. He glanced at the empty inner office again then quickly at the bullpen door, as if willing his partner to appear. He knew Mike would want to be in on the arrest.

He had just done up his left cuff button and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair when the outer office door opened and a frowning Mike Stone charged through the tiny anteroom into the bullpen, heading for his office without even a glance around the room. He seemed to be under his own thundercloud; Steve watched as he strode past and entered the small glass-walled office, slamming the door behind him before tearing off his jacket and hanging it almost violently on the rack beneath the fedora.

With a heavy sigh, Steve dropped his jacket back onto the chair then picked up the sheet of paper and crossed towards the inner office. Mike had moved to the filing cabinet behind the desk and was pouring himself a glass of water. Steve opened the door slowly; Mike turned at the sound, scowling ferociously as he downed the water in one large gulp then slammed the glass back onto the cabinet. Without a word, he stepped behind the desk and sat heavily.

With a grim, humourless but sympathetic smile, Steve closed the door and stepped to the guest chair, sitting slowly as he put the paper on the desk. "I, ah, I take it the meeting didn't go as well as you'd hoped?"

Mike's expression didn't change as he stared at the younger man for a long beat before nodding at the paper on the desk. "What's that?"

Knowing when to leave well enough alone, Steve's eyebrows rose. "Oh, ah, I finally got a hold of that super in the Fraser case." He picked up the paper and raised it with a self-satisfied smile.

His own eyebrows rising, Mike leaned forward and a small smile played across his lips. "You got confirmation?"

The smile getting a little wider, Steve leaned forward as well, nodding. "Residence and car. Slam dunk. And I already talked to D'Amato, that new ADA in Gerry's office, and he's standing by… so, you want me to take this to him and get us a couple of warrants?"

"If it means we can get out of this loony bin for a couple of hours this afternoon, you bet I want you to go," Mike chuckled as he nodded, watching as the younger man got to his feet, grinning.

As Steve stepped through the door he looked back. "Listen, you want me to bring you back something for lunch?"

Mike thought about it for a second then shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'm not hungry. Maybe I will be after we put the cuffs on someone…"

Laughing, Steve picked up his jacket, gathering the paperwork he had finished in his partner's absence and putting it in a manila file folder. Tucking the folder under one arm and tossing the jacket over his shoulder, he called back as he headed to the outer door, "Don't go busting anymore murderers till I get back, all right?"

"I'll try not to," the older man called after him with a laugh. As Steve disappeared through the outer door, Mike leaned back and smiled to himself. With a soft shake of his head, he chuckled then inhaled deeply and happily. No matter how bad the world seemed at times, his partner could always make him feel better about things. He was a lucky man.

# # # # #

A half hour later, he was deeply engrossed in the minutiae of a case file when the annoying ringing of his partner's phone reached his ears. Frowning in irritation, he glanced up overtop of his reading glasses, belatedly realizing that Steve was still absent and no one else in the busy bullpen seemed in the least inclined to put an end to the torment.

With a growl, Mike shot to his feet, dropping the glasses to his desk as he strode quickly to the offending black phone and snatched up the receiver. "Inspector Keller's desk," he snarled, his eyes snapping around the busy room.

"Steve…?" a soft feminine voice reached his ear.

"Steve's not here right now, can I take a message?" He was finding it hard to keep the impatience out of his voice.

"Mike?" The soft voice asked tentatively.

His attention refocused. "Yes… who's this?" He somehow knew he should recognize the voice but the decibel level in the room was making everything difficult, it seemed.

"Mike, it's Mel."

"Mel! Of course," he chuckled, his face breaking into a broad smile as he sat on the edge of the desk, turning his back to the room in the hopes he could block out some of the noise. "Steve's gone over to the District Attorney's office to get us a couple of warrants but he should be back soon. I can get him to give you a call before we head out –"

"No no no," she said quickly, "I know you guys are really busy. I was just wondering if he knew if he was getting home at a decent hour tonight. I was thinking of making a veal piccata if he was going to be home early enough."

Smiling, Mike glanced at his watch. "Well, we're gonna go out and serve those warrants right after he gets back but, if things go smoothly - and there's no reason to think they shouldn't - he might be able to get home before seven." He laughed. "That's as optimistic as I can be, Mel… sorry."

He heard her throaty laugh through the receiver. "Don't be sorry, Mike, I know how overworked you guys are right now. If he can make it, fine, but tell him not to sweat it, okay? I can do it some other time."

"Okay… Hmm, veal piccata, hunh?"

She chuckled. "Hey, if you like veal piccata, I can make it for you sometime too… How does that sound?"

"Sounds like I'm really glad Steve met you, my dear, really glad…" His warm laughter wafted through the phone line. "I'll give him your message the second he comes in, Mel. I promise. Oh, ah… whose place? Yours or his?"

"His, of course," she laughed again. "Thanks, Mike. You guys take care, you hear, and I hope to see you soon."

"You too." He smiled to himself as he hung up, sitting on the desk and staring at the phone for several long seconds before slowly getting up and returning to his office.

It had been over three months since Steve had met the comely young sous chef at the trendy new Wharf restaurant. Mel Fisher had only been in The City six months when her eyes met those of the handsome young homicide cop when he had taken a date out to dinner.

He had contritely explained to his partner the next day that he was deeply embarrassed, and deservedly so, when his roving gaze had settled on the gorgeous blond behind the counter of the open kitchen in The City's latest hot spot; and there and then he had forgotten all about the blind date that he was dining with that evening. And that by the end of said evening he not only had caught her eye as well but had her phone number - and she his.

They had been together ever since.

Mike smiled to himself as he picked up his reading glasses and put them back on. In all the years they had been together, he had never seen Steve so smitten, and so committed.

He smiled to himself. Mel seemed to be the one, he thought to himself. She was as wonderful a girl, as full of life and love, as his own daughter Jeannie. And Steve seemed as head-over-heels about her as she seemed to be with him. It would be a relief, he thought, if his partner finally settled down after what seemed to be a string of women who had loved and left, some of them leaving the young man stung and bewildered.

Mike picked up the file and sat back, his focus rapidly returning to the job at hand. Twenty minutes later, once more engrossed, he remained oblivious when Steve appeared in the doorway. A loud knock caught his attention and his head snapped up, the glasses coming off again. The younger man waved two folded papers. "Shall we…?"

"That didn't take long," Mike chuckled, getting to his feet and crossing quickly to the coat rack, stuffing the glasses into the inside pocket of the charcoal grey suit jacket before putting it on and grabbing the felt hat. "Let's get a move on," he continued with a grin as he led the way across the bullpen, "there's a veal piccata with your name on it."

Steve's stride had a sudden hitch in it. "What?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Yeah, I can give you Tracy and Martinez, how does that sound?"

Shift Commander Paul Bergowski raised his head slightly from the large metal clipboard in his hand and fixed his gray-eyed stare on the Homicide lieutenant.

"Perfect," Mike concurred with a nod as his own eyes wandered towards his partner sitting on the edge of a desk across the room, phone receiver to his ear. The younger man was smiling and nodding. "Ah, shouldn't take too long, Paul. This is the clown who hit and killed that old man over on Sansome the other day… running from a bodega robbery. We got a partial on the plate and just had to put in some old-fashioned footwork. And I have a feeling he'll go quietly so your boys should be back on the road within the hour."

He turned pointedly towards his partner once more and cleared his throat loudly. When Steve looked up, he raised his left forearm, exposing his watch, and tapped his right forefinger against the crystal. Getting the message, Steve nodded vigorously and got to his feet, saying a few more unintelligible words before hanging up and crossing the roll call room with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Come on, lover boy, we've got places to go, people to arrest," Mike groused good-naturedly with an affectionate chuckle, flashing Bergowski a grin and a knowing wink as his partner fell into step beside him. "Thanks, Paul!" he called back over his shoulder as he stepped through the open doorway into the bustling corridor, Steve on his heels.

Nodding to the two uniformed officers standing beside their cruiser as they crossed the parking lot towards the tan LTD, Mike paused before opening the passenger side door and fixed the younger man with a curious stare over the roof of the car. "So, veal piccata tonight?"

Raising his eyebrows and nodding with a close-mouthed grin, Steve opened the driver's side door. "And that's just for starters, if you know what I mean," he chuckled suggestively as he disappeared into the car.

# # # # #

He laid the back of his head against the couch, unceremoniously dropping his right hand onto his stomach. "Oh, god," he moaned, "I think I ate too much again…"

She slid onto the couch beside him, carefully placing two glasses of white wine on the coffee table before drawing her legs up and snuggling closer. "Oh, I don't know," she began enigmatically, "I don't think you _can_ eat too much veal piccata." She stared at his profile and chuckled. "Don't you?"

He turned his head slowly and stared into her startling blue eyes, eyes that reminded him so much of his partner. He began to nod slowly. "Yeah… yeah, I think you might be right." With a laugh, his left arm shot out, slipping behind her and pulling her quickly to his side; she giggled but didn't resist, melting against him and laying her head against his shoulder.

"You really liked it?" She sounded almost unsure and he squeezed her a little tighter.

"Of course I liked it," he said forcefully, "I loved it. It's one of your best dishes, you know that. You nailed it."

She nodded but he could tell she wasn't completely convinced. Since she had told him two weeks ago of her plans to open her own restaurant someday, he could feel her starting to rethink her decision. For someone who so recently was convinced she had the drive, desire and talent to become a world-class chef with an establishment of her own, she had lately begun to show the occasional tiny uncharacteristic display of inadequacy. And that bothered him.

He felt her take a deep breath. "Well, there's still some fine tuning I need to do before it's 'plate worthy'." She turned to him sharply. "Do you think I could make it for some of your colleagues and see how they like it?"

His smile crinkled his eyes and he chuckled warmly. "Are you kidding? They'd kill for a meal that good. Just don't expect them to be overly critical; most of them don't know a shiitake from a Shih Tzu."

Groaning at the bad joke, she pushed him away, which made him pull her closer. "Maybe I'll just invite Mike over first, see how he likes it?"

"Again," Steve emphasized with a knowing nod, "don't expect anything less than a glowing review. He may look all rough and gruff but he's a pushover, especially for a pretty lady who can cook."

Mel looked at him with an appreciative smile. "Why thank you, kind sir."

Chuckling, he leaned forward and picked up one of the wine glasses; she did the same. Taking a sip, he eyed her salaciously over the glass then raised his eyebrows. "Listen, ah, I really have to get into the office early tomorrow… we're still swamped. Let's say you and I get right to the, ah… the dessert portion of tonight's meal…?"

Putting his glass down softly, he rose slowly to his feet, took her glass and set it on the table beside his own, then gently clasped her hand and helped her stand. Without a backward glance, he led her silently across the room and up the stairs.

They didn't bother to close the bedroom door.

# # # # #

"So how was the veal piccata?"

Even from within the confines of his office, Mike's booming voice sliced through the babble in the overcrowded bullpen as Steve approached his desk, slipping off his jacket and dropping it on the back of the chair.

Chuckling as he began to roll up his sleeves, Steve crossed to the inner office door. "Bellissima," he laughed as he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

"Good for you," Mike sighed sarcastically, bestowing upon his young partner his best long-suffering smirk. "I had cold leftover meat loaf."

"What time did you get home?"

Mike had sent him packing as soon as they'd returned to Bryant Street with Douglas Fraser in custody, the arrest going without a hitch.

"Oh, somewhere between 10:30 and 11, I think." Mike glanced down at his desk, wanting to change the subject quickly before he made the younger man feel guilty, which had not been his intention. "So now that the Fraser case in wrapped, for the time being, what say you and I tackle that merchant seaman they found over off Broadway?"

"The guy that was garroted?" Steve asked, taking a step into the room and dropping heavily into the guest chair.

Mike nodded. "Yeah, that one." He tilted his head. "Dan took the initial report, so let's talk to him first and see what he can tell us that's maybe not in the file when he gets back. Until then, read this." He had picked up a thin file folder and tossed it across the desk.

"Sounds good to me," Steve agreed, pulling the folder closer and opening it. He looked up and quickly around the room. "Is it my imagination or is it getting hotter in here?"

With a snort, Mike got up and turned to the filing cabinet to pour himself a glass of water. "It's not your imagination. Nobody expected this kind of weather when this place was built so no air conditioning, right? I guess we're just going to have to… oh, what do the kids say… suck it up?"

Steve snorted. "Great."

"Yeah." Mike sat back down again with a full glass of water. "Didn't you see some of the guys lugging air conditioners in this morning? I don't know where they think they're going to put them. It's not like these windows open," he chuckled, nodding over his shoulder.

"I expect to hear the sound of breaking glass sooner or later," Steve laughed as he sat back and crossed his legs, propping the folder against his knee.

Mike pointed at the file. "Let's get through this as soon as possible, try to find out what ship that guy came in on. It'll give us a good excuse to get down to the wharf, hopefully catch a little of that cooler sea air. What'd'ya say?"

"I'd say that's a brilliant plan, Lieutenant. I was wondering for a second there why you seemed so… overly enthusiastic to take this case. Now I know…"

Mike grinned at him and tapped his temple with his right forefinger. "Always thinking, buddy boy, always thinking…"

# # # # #

"That's just great," Mike grumbled as he stepped out of the small, weather-beaten wooden 'guard' shack at the end of the pier. Steve, who had been leaning against the railing nearby, his tie loosened and jacket undone, pushed himself erect and crossed to his partner, staring at him through thick dark glasses. Mike squinted in the bright unrelenting sunshine. "We missed Petrou's ship by an hour and a half."

"Damn," Steve muttered under his breath. He sighed heavily and looked around, shrugging. "So, what do you want to do next?" He knew Mike was as reluctant to go back to Bryant Street as he was; it definitely was several degrees cooler near the Bay.

Mike looked up and down the pier then at his partner, as if reading his mind. "Let's go for a walk."

Smiling and shaking his head, Steve fell into step beside the taller man, who had stuffed his hands into his pants pockets after pulling his own tie loose and undoing the collar button on his blue-and-white stripped dress shirt.

"So, what do we know so far?" Mike asked as they wound their way slowly up the pier towards the Embarcadero before turning towards the Bay Bridge.

"Well," Steve said slowly, his own hands in his pants pockets, thumbs hooked overtop, "our victim is one Costas Petrou, a 35-year-old Greek national who was working aboard the merchant ship _Hollister Cavalier_, which docked here last Tuesday. His dead body was found in an alley off Broadway two days later. The M.E.'s office said he was strangled with a garrote, which was still around his neck, but no prints were found on the garrote and there was no viable evidence found on or around the body."

Mike was nodding slowly as the younger man talked. "Not much, is it?"

Steve shook his head, looking up as they maneuvered their way around the throngs of excited tourists who were winding their way from the cruise ship pier to the Wharf.

"So, any theories?"

"Well, he was a big guy, a big youngish guy, so I don't think he would be a pushover. I mean, garroting somebody like that takes size and strength, right?"

Mike nodded and grunted, looking down at the sidewalk, trying to ignore the humanity flowing around them. In a couple of blocks they would be past the cruise line pier and blissfully alone again.

"So that rules out a trick, right? I mean, how many working girls do we know who could take down someone as big as Petrou?"

Mike chuckled. "You got that right." He inhaled loudly. "So, who does that leave us with? Angry pimp? Jealous boyfriend? Do we even know which way he swung?" He looked at Steve from the corner of his eye and saw the facial shrug that washed over the younger man's face. "That's a legitimate question, isn't it…?" he asked rhetorically. "If we had someone to ask, that is…"

Steve sighed. "Well, I think that ship has sailed, literally and figuratively, for us right now," he paused briefly and chuckled as Mike shot him an annoyed glance, rolling his eyes, "so what about we contact the Merchant Marine… Association or whatever it's called and see if he's listed with them and maybe we can track down someone who sailed with him." He shrugged again as he heard Mike sigh in frustration.

"Isn't there some kind of merchant marine organization or headquarters or something over in Oakland?" the older man mused, nodding vaguely in the direction of the city on the other side of the Bay.

"Yeah, I think so. I'll check it out." They walked in silence for almost a minute before Steve piped up again. "Who uses a garrote in this day and age anyway?" he mused, more to himself than his partner. He snorted and shook his head in bewilderment. "So, ah, what do you want to do now?"

Mike slowly stopped walking, then turned, his hands still in his pockets. He sighed loudly then chuckled. "Well, I guess we don't have a choice, do we? Back to the car… and then back to that lovely sauna that used to be our office."

Laughing softly, Steve began to follow. "I tell you what, when we pass that ice cream stand near pier 17 I'll spring for a couple of cones."

Mike's leisurely pace increased dramatically.


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, thank you very much, that was very helpful." Steve hung up as he got to his feet. He picked up the notepad and crossed to the inner office, hovering just outside the door while his partner finished his own phone call.

Mike was leaning over the desk, making quick notations on a yellow legal pad, nodding vigorously and barking the occasional "Yes." Finally the pen stopped moving and he froze briefly, his head coming up. "Yes, thank you very much, Mr. Carelli. You've been a big help… Yes… Yes… Thank you again." With a satisfied snort he dropped the receiver onto the cradle, leaning over the pad once more to read what he had written.

Steve knocked on the door before stepping into the room. When the older man looked up, he gestured towards the pad on the desk. "Good news?"

Grinning, Mike took his reading glasses off and set them on the pad. "Better than good. He was able to give me the list of everyone else who was staying at the hotel the day Goodman was killed." He looked up, nodding towards the notebook in the younger man's hand. "What've you got?"

"Costas Petrou…? That Greek merchant marine…?"

Mike's frown slowly disappeared. "Oh, yeah, that guy… sorry, I got caught up with the Goodman thing…" He sat back as Steve dropped into the guest chair and tossed the notebook on the desk, absent-mindedly flattening his tie before his hand stopped in mid-air as he froze then started to laugh; he wasn't wearing a tie.

It had gotten so hot and humid in Homicide, as it had in every nook and cranny in the grey concrete building, that Mike had waived his heretofore strict dress code. While in the office, ties were now optional, and everyone's jacket was now covering a chair or hanging off a rack.

Steve looked at his partner from under a lowered brow, trying not to smirk. He covered his soft laugh with a not very convincing cough. When Mike's brow furrowed, he shook his head and grinned. "Sorry, but I can't get used to the…" he gestured vaguely towards the older man, groping for words, "the… vest-less look… I don't think I've ever seen you in the office without a vest and a tie…" He shrugged with a chuckle.

Mike looked down at himself and smiled. "I know. It feels weird to me too, but those vests are just too damn hot right now. But don't worry, I'll be back to the old look as soon as this heat wave breaks and we're back to normal."

Steve raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "I'm not worried, believe me… I kinda like the new… casual you…"

"Ha ha," Mike's voice dripped sarcasm through a chuckle. "Don't get too used to it… or that… tieless look for yourself," he emphasized with a pointed finger. "We'll both be back to normal soon… I hope." He laughed and dropped his hand to the desk, pushing himself back in the chair. "So, what do you have on our Mr. Petrou?"

"Well, the Marine Association proved to be a virtual font of information. I got the personnel manifest from not only the _Hollister Cavalier_, which was the ship that docked here last week, but the two previous ships that Petrou crewed on in the past ten years. One of them, luckily enough, is based in Oakland and its most recent captain just retired last year and he's living up in Santa Rosa."

"My my my, that's handy, isn't it?" Mike grinned with a surprised chuckle. "And you know what that means, right?"

"A trip to wine country?"

"Well, a short trip to wine country, but it won't be any cooler up there, I can tell you that." The older man chuckled dryly with a woeful shake of his head, looking at his partner with what could only be described as a long face. "This can't last much longer, can it? I mean, seriously, I've lived here all my life and I don't remember it being this hot for this long…"

Steve shook his head slowly with a rueful mirthless smile, raising his eyebrows. "I don't know but I hope it stops before the dress code is down to t-shirts and Bermuda shorts…"

Mike chuckled, grinning. "That'll be the day. Listen, ah," he continued, pointing at the notebook now in the younger man's hand," why don't you give that retired captain a call and see where he lives and if he wants to talk to us about Petrou, okay? Maybe we can get up there this afternoon and get out of The City for a few hours at least."

Nodding, Steve got to his feet. "That's if he even remembers Petrou in the first place, right?"

"Yeah, there's that too," Mike agreed reluctantly as the younger man disappeared through the glass-paneled door. With a weary sigh, he put his glasses back on, ran a finger down the list of names and number on the pad before him, picked up the black receiver and started to dial.

# # # # #

"Sure is pretty country up here, isn't it?" Mike murmured almost to himself as he stared out the side window of the large sedan making its way down a residential street in the Sonoma County city. He turned to look across the front seat. "Do you know Charles Schulz lives here?"

Steve glanced over, still having a hard time not smiling whenever he caught a glimpse of his partner in dark glasses; it was something Mike rarely did but the unavoidable sun was changing everyones lives, it seemed. "The _Peanuts_ guy?"

"Yeah, the _Peanuts_ guy. Moved here several years ago. Bet he's got a nice place," he said under his breath, looking out the window again at the smartly painted clapboard bungalows with the large front yards they were driving past. He glanced down at the notepad in his lap. "It's number 2431… should be just up here on the right," he offered, pointing through the windshield.

Steve nodded as he slowed the large sedan then swung it into the paved driveway. "Hmm," he mused as he braked the LTD to a stop, shifted into Park and turned the engine off, "I wonder what he wants to tell us that he felt he couldn't over the phone."

# # # # #

Steve was stirring the thick chocolate milkshake with the heavy straw, his eyes on the open notebook in front of him. Across the table, Mike was staring into space, his right hand resting loosely around the base of the tall glass of iced tea sitting before him. Neither had said a word since the waitress had left with their food orders over a minute before.

Steve glanced up, then leaned over and took a long pull on the straw as he stared at his silent partner. Swallowing with an involuntary shudder as the cold liquid slid down his throat, he tilted his head and smiled slightly. "What's bugging you?"

"Humh?" Mike's eyebrows rose slowly as his head came up and his attention drifted back to the present.

Steve's smile got a little wider. "I said what's bugging you?"

Shaking his head slightly, as if to wake himself up, Mike smiled self-consciously. "Oh, ah, sorry, uh… I was just thinking about what Captain Osterman said…"

"You mean about Petrou's… proclivity for trannies?"

"Yeah," Mike nodded, his eyebrows keeping time with his head. "I'm not sure if that broadens our suspect base or narrows it."

With a dry snort, Steve leaned over his glass and took another sip. "So, ah, where do we start? I mean, I know I don't have any trannies on my short list of CI's. You?"

The older man chuckled dryly. "Not that I know of. I guess there's a couple of people I can talk to but I think it might be a good idea if you go visit your old colleagues back in Vice and see if anyone there can help us." He frowned in almost bemused confusion. "So you're telling me that in the two or so years you spent in Vice, you didn't develop any kind of… relationship with a tranny?"

With a close-mouthed smile, Steve shook his head slowly. "Like you just said, not that I know of. I mean I met quite a few of them, that's for sure. But nobody that became a regular snitch for me, you know what I mean?"

Mike nodded in understanding.

"And I never met anyone that could've, or would've, done what someone did to Petrou, I'm pretty sure of that."

"Yeah, me too. We've still gotta wait on the toxicology report to see if there was something in his system that might've allowed someone to get the upper hand but still… I mean, you know, it's not like they show in the movies or on TV. It takes a long time and a lot of strength to actually kill someone by strangling them…" Mike shook his head in disbelief, his gaze unfocusing again.

He sighed eventually and his head came up quickly. He smiled warmly. "Well, we better eat up when it gets here and hit the road. There's the chance… a slight chance, mind you… that you might be able to get home early enough tonight to spend some quality time with that girl of yours."

Steve smiled and shook his head. "Not tonight, I'm afraid. She's working the dinner shift again tonight. Seems no one wants to stay home and cook in this weather so they're going gangbusters at every sitting. She's been there till midnight or later almost every night this week."

"Hunh," Mike snorted quietly. "And here we thought we were the only ones suffering in this heat," he laughed, "and she's in a hot kitchen too, right?"

Steve nodded.

Mike threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, you won't hear me complain about our situation anymore," he chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Well, at least till we get back to The City."

# # # # #

At the light rap on the glass of the small inner office door, the bullet-shaped head with the short grey buzzcut snapped up, a black receiver pinned to the left ear. The angry frown quickly dissolved into a surprised and happy grin and the right hand, pen still between the fingers, rose quickly to beckon the new arrival into the room.

Chuckling, Steve opened the door and slipped into the small office as Lieutenant Collier's attention returned to the phone. He dropped into the guest chair, crossing his legs and folding his clasped hands over his stomach. He waited patiently while the Vice head finished his call, dropping the pen onto the pad and looking back up with a broad grin. The older man rose slightly and leaned across the table, his right hand extended.

Steve sat forward, uncrossing his legs, and grasped the older man's hand, smiling and chuckling.

"Well, sonofabitch, I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for a long time, young fella! How's it going, Steve? Mike keeping you busy up in Homicide?" he laughed as his huge paw enfolded the younger man's hand and he pumped his arm.

"Busy, enough, Barry, especially in this heat wave. We're swamped." He glanced around the bustling Vice bullpen. "Like you guys are too, it seems."

Collier shook his head in despair. "You better believe it. I'll be glad when this god damn heat finally breaks and we can get back to being chilly and cold San Francisco again. This ain't like us; this is Miami weather."

Steve laughed. "You sound just like Mike."

"Well, he ain't wrong. So, what can I do for you? I'm correct in assuming this is not a social call, am I right?"

"You're right," the Homicide inspector confirmed with a nod. "I need to pick your brain and, ah," he nodded over his shoulder towards the bullpen, "and those of your squad, if it's okay with you?"

"Sure, shoot. What do you need?"

# # # # #

Mike glanced up as Steve crossed the bullpen and headed straight for his office. "So? Did you enjoy your jaunt down memory lane?" he asked with a chuckle as the younger man dropped wearily into the guest chair and ran his hands over his face. "You were gone long enough. I was almost ready to call in the canine unit to see if they could track you down."

Steve stared at him snidely, waiting for the older man to finish, which he did with a grin and a laugh. He began slowly and quietly. "There are a lot of officers in Vice… and they all have their own C.I.'s and most of them are not really willing to share…"

Mike was nodding slowly. "Umh-humh, just like us…" he confirmed pedantically.

Steve froze briefly and stared at him almost accusatorily, then he snorted suddenly and shook his head, chuckling. "Yeah, just like us," he agreed.

Mike sat forward, leaning on his forearms on the desk. "So, were you successful?"

With a broad grin, Steve reached into his jacket pocket, slipped the notebook out and dropped it on the desk. He stood up quickly, took the jacket off and settled it over the back of the chair, then sat again and flipped the notebook open. He looked up in triumph.

"I got a list of sixteen names of possible suspects… if our suspect is a tranny… capable of taking down someone the size of Costas Petrou."

"Sixteen?" Mike asked in disbelief.

Steve nodded sagely. "Sixteen."

"Humh, that's, ah… that's more than I would've thought. And, ah, and do you know where we can locate each and every one of these sixteen, ah… women?"

Steve grinned and raised his eyebrows. "I do."

Matching the grin, Mike glanced at his watch. It was just past six, and it would be a couple of hours yet till the nightlife would begin to stir in the city. "What say you and I grab some dinner and then get to work?"


	4. Chapter 4

He was sitting back on the couch in the dark, an ice cold bottle of beer on the coffee table between between his feet. It had turned out to be a long, long evening.

They had grabbed dinner at a restaurant on Divisadero that Mike liked to frequent, a small family-run place with excellent food and, most importantly right now, a healthy air conditioner. Then they had gone back to work.

The list of 'addresses' Steve had compiled from talking to the various Vice officers was more an inventory of possible street corners, dives and motels-by-the-hour where the transvestites they were looking for were most likely to be located. It was, at best, a hit-or-miss premise.

For the next four and a half hours there were more misses than hits. But they did manage to track down, and talk to, five of the names on the list. Unfortunately, all of the five had alibis which, on the surface, seemed airtight but would need to be checked out. But, fortunately, two of the women had been able to provide them with better information with regards to the whereabouts of six of the others on the list.

Somewhat satisfied and yet somewhat frustrated, Mike had decided to call it a night just after 1 and had dropped the younger man off before heading south to Potrero and hopefully a good night's sleep.

Steve had found time during the evening to call Mel's apartment and leave a message on her answering machine, asking her to give him a call when she got home or leave a message on his machine. When he'd finally stumbled through the Union Street apartment door ten minutes ago, he found no new messages flashing so he assumed she was still at the restaurant.

He was just reaching for the bottle between his feet when the phone rang and he jumped, the sound seemingly louder than normal in the still and heavy air. He picked it up on the first ring, hoping it was Mel but suddenly realizing it might be Mike. He modified his greeting from 'Hello, babe,' to just, "Hello."

"Well, that's not a very seductive way to answer the phone so late at night," came the sexy purr over the line and he chuckled. "Your head still in the office?"

"Not really, but I thought you might be Mike."

"Oh, yeah… I could see that being a problem – or at least an interesting topic of conversation tomorrow…" Her throaty laughter was music to his ears.

"Are you home?"

"Yeah, finally… When did you get in?"

"About fifteen minutes ago."

"Long night too, hunh?"

"You better believe it. But we made some headway. So the restaurant was really busy again?"

"Busy doesn't seem to be an adequate word, I'm afraid… Hey, am I to assume you have a beer going?"

He chuckled. "Of course… why?"

"'Cause I just poured myself a huge glass of ice cold Chardonnay and there is no way I'm going to get to sleep for awhile yet. You want to kill a couple of hours winding down with me, big boy?"

He had leaned forward again and picked up the bottle. "You better believe it," he whispered into the mouthpiece then took a sip of beer, letting her hear him swallow and the slosh of beer in the bottle.

She laughed and he heard a soft sigh as she took a sip of the chilled wine.

They talked for over an hour.

# # # # #

The sedan was parked illegally across the street from the small blue-gray Union Street apartment. The front door opened and Steve, his jacket and tie over one arm, stepped quickly onto the porch and spun to close the door.

As the key turned in the lock, he heard the engine of the LTD roar to life. He was late, and he knew he would hear about it.

He watched Mike staring out the windshield as he made his way across the street, circling the trunk to the passenger side door. His empty stomach was doing flip-flops; it was unlike him to be late and he hated disappointing the man who was not only his boss but had also somehow become his closest friend.

"Sorry I'm late," he began preemptively as he opened the door and slid onto the seat.

Without so much as a sideways glance, Mike shifted into Drive and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb. As they turned left onto Montgomery, Steve shot a glance at his partner but Mike's attention hadn't left the road ahead; he felt ignored and more than a little uneasy. He hadn't been _that_ late, he thought.

They were halfway down Telegraph Hill before Mike tossed a look across the front seat but still said nothing. Steve slumped a little lower in the seat, his confused frown deepening. With another quick glance at the older man, he cleared his throat softly. "So, ah, did you get some sleep last night?"

He saw Mike's right hand, on the top of the steering wheel, tighten briefly but his expression didn't change. "Enough," came the curt reply.

The car turned right onto Market as the uncomfortable silence in the large sedan lengthened.

Taking a deep breath, Steve raised his head and tried again. "So, ah, so what do you want to do first this morning?"

Mike's eyes stayed on the road. "The Goodman case."

"Yeah, okay," Steve agreed, nodding. He looked out the side window, his brows knit in worry. It had been a long time since he'd seen Mike so distant and angry, and seemingly at him. But other than being a few minutes late, he couldn't figure out why.

They were heading south on 8th towards Bryant Street; the butterflies in his stomach had turned to concrete. If he knew what the problem was, he was pretty confident he could diffuse the situation; he'd always been able to do so before.

The sedan slowed to a stop at the red light at Bryant but Mike didn't pull into the left turning lane and the turn signal wasn't on. Steve's eyes snapped from the dashboard to his partner's expressionless face and back, his frown deepening even more.

The light turned green and the tan LTD slid easily through the intersection and continued down 8th. Now totally confused, Steve sat back, belatedly reaching into the pocket of the jacket on his lap and taking his sunglasses out. He slipped them on, turning to look out the side window, trying desperately to figure out what was going on.

The car moved seamlessly through the early morning rush hour traffic, getting further and further from the Hall of Justice. He had no idea where they were going and Mike remained silent, not even gracing him with so much as a fleeting glance.

About ten minutes later, in an industrial area close to India Basin, the unmarked cop car slid to smooth stop at the curb in front of a small diner. Mike shifted into Park and turned off the engine. Then, with stunning nonchalance, turned in the seat to face his passenger.

"So I thought we should get ourselves a good hearty breakfast before heading out today, what do you think?" He gestured towards the small blue and white restaurant with 'Jerry's Diner' painted in red italics over the large front window. "They make the best Western omelette in town, did you know that?" Grinning and chuckling, and without waiting for a reply, Mike opened the door and got out.

A couple of stunned seconds later, shaking his head in confusion and disbelief and a smile slowly starting to emerge, Steve opened the passenger side door and climbed out. Mike was already standing at the diner's front door, holding it open, beaming.

Steve dropped his head and sighed loudly, starting to chuckle. As he walked past his partner into the diner, he muttered, "It's gonna be that kinda day, is it?"

Laughing, Mike followed him inside, letting the door close behind him.

# # # # #

"So, I know we have this list of all the people who were staying at the Carlton when Goodman was killed, but what makes you think any of them killed him? I mean, who would check into a hotel under their real name to kill someone who was also staying there… right?"

Steve could feel a trickle of sweat sliding down his back between his shoulder blades, and it wasn't even 9 a.m. yet. He looked up from the yellow pad on the desk in front of him into his partner's frowning eyes; Mike already looked uncomfortable despite the large table fan that was now perched on the filing cabinet and blowing directly towards the desk. He had his left hand on the stack of papers he had been going through, trying to keep them from flying away.

"Yes, I'm well aware of that," Mike answered slowly, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. The good mood that had engulfed them when they left the diner after a wonderfully bracing breakfast had quickly disappeared when they walked into the Dutch oven that had once been the Homicide office.

"But you know as well as I do that it had to have been an inside job, so to speak, right? And there is the possibility, you have to admit, that when we contact every one of the people on this list that we're gonna find out that one of them - or likely more than one – are not who they say they are, and then we can winnow the list down even more."

Steve continued to stare expressionlessly. Sighing heavily, Mike continued, "I know it's going to take a hell of a long time and it's going to be really, really frustrating, but can you think of a better way…?" He fixed the younger man with a penetrating glare.

A long second later, Steve sagged and shook his head. "No, not right now anyway…" He stood, picking up the pad. "I'll get this Xeroxed and then we can each take a column." Without another word, he turned and left the room.

Mike sat back with an exasperated sigh. They were understaffed and overworked and this heat wave was just adding to their misery. And none of it showed any sign of improvement in the next few days.

And it was his job to keep a lid on it all.

# # # # #

It was more than twenty minutes later before Steve returned with the photocopy. Mike looked up from the file he was making notes in when the younger man stepped through the door. "What took you so long? They move the Xerox machine to City Hall?"

Steve smirked before tossing the yellow pad on the desk. "I bumped into Sergeant Holbeck in the Hall. All hell's breaking loose out there." He nodded beyond the older man to the window. "One of the rookies shot a robbery suspect this morning." He saw Mike's head go back slightly and his eyes widen. "He didn't kill him but the suspect was surrendering at the time…" He shrugged. "Ralph said the kid just fired at him. They're not sure why yet… Maybe he thought the guy had a gun…?"

Mike shook his head sadly, looking down. "Actually, I'm kinda surprised we haven't seen more of that kind of thing until now… Tempers are getting really thin out there… I have a feeling something really bad is going to happen if we don't get a break in this weather soon…"

Steve frowned. He'd never heard his usually optimistic partner sounding so dark; it was frankly alarming.

As if realizing the path he had started to tread, Mike raised his head sharply, trying to smile encouragingly. "Whoa," he said with a soft self-conscious chuckle, "where did that come from…?" He raised his eyebrows and broadened his smile. "So, ah, which column do you want?" he asked, pointing at the photocopy in the younger man's hand.

"What?" Steve shook his head slightly, confused.

"The list. Which column to you want to call?"

As if suddenly noticing the paper in his hand, Steve started slightly. "Oh, yeah, right, ah, I'll take the right column."

"Okay," Mike said slowly. "Well, good luck."

A questionably optimistic laugh followed Steve as he turned to his desk, but even as he set himself to start making a seemingly endless string of phone calls, the melancholic words of his partner were still ringing in his ears.

He just hoped they didn't prove to be prophetic.


	5. Chapter 5

"Got one!" Steve called from his desk as he slammed the black receiver onto the cradle and got to his feet, picking up his notebook before taking the two long strides that got him to the inner office door.

Mike looked up over his glasses. "Which one?" he asked, a slightly smug smile starting to build.

After bestowing his best smirk upon his silently gloating partner, Steve chuckled quietly. "Laurence McCormick."

Mike looked down at the list on the yellow pad. Over half the names in the left-hand column had already been crossed out. He ran his finger down the names on the right. "Laurence McCormick," he muttered. His finger stopped and he tapped the pad twice then circled the name with the pen. "Good, good…" He looked up and smiled. "Listen, ah, let's keep going and if we get time, we'll run all the names we get through R&I before we head out again tonight on the Petrou case."

"You know, we're gonna have to eat and maybe get some sleep sometime in the next twenty-four hours, don't you think?" Steve tried to keep a lightness in his tone; he knew Mike was just as, if not more, exhausted than he was. They hadn't had two active cases at the same time for a couple of years; then it had been a crime wave, this time it was mainly a personnel shortage.

Mike stared at him expressionlessly for several seconds then snorted a short laugh, a weary smile playing across his lips. "Yeah, that'd be nice, wouldn't it?" He looked down the list. "I'm almost finished. How about you?"

Steve glanced at the notebook. "About ten… but it's going faster than I expected it to. And if we're lucky, maybe Mr. McCormick will be our only hit."

Mike snorted again. "Yeah, your lips to –" He pointed up at the ceiling and chuckled.

Laughing, Steve turned and went back to his desk, sitting heavily and picking up the receiver to make another call.

# # # # #

"If Jeannie could see what I've been eating lately, she'd have my hide," Mike chuckled as he stared at the half-eaten hamburger in his right hand.

Steve laughed as he picked up a French fry. "Come to think of it, so would Mel. I guess we better not tell them, hunh?"

"Good plan," Mike agreed with an enthusiastic nod before taking another bite.

Swallowing the fry, the younger man asked, "Speaking of Jeannie, she should be coming home for the summer soon, right?"

Mike reached for the tall glass of ginger ale over ice. It stopped halfway to his mouth. "Didn't I tell you? She's got a summer placement job with an architectural firm in San Diego. She's coming home for the 4th of July weekend but she's heading down there right after. It's a six-week thing so she won't be back till mid-August." He sounded proud but slightly sad.

"That's great for her, isn't it? Sounds like it's right up her alley."

"Yeah, yeah, it's, ah… she beat out quite a few others so it's a real feather in her cap." His smile disappeared briefly as the melancholy threatened to overcome him but he recovered quickly, clearing his throat self-consciously.

Steve knew Mike loved having his daughter home for the summer. "So, ah, you said she's going to be home for the 4th?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's a Thursday this year so she's gonna stay through the weekend and take the bus to San Diego on the Monday. They told her she can start on the Tuesday."

Steve picked up his burger. "So, uh, do you think we're going to have that weekend off…?" he asked softly, trying to sound casual, before taking a bite.

Mike, his own burger near his mouth, froze briefly then smiled. "Oh, I think I can arrange that. By rights we should have both these cases wrapped by then, wouldn't you think?"

"I admire your optimism," Steve chuckled around a mouthful of burger.

Mike chewed and swallowed before he continued. "Well, even if we don't, I think we'll need the break or we'll both go crazy, don't you agree?"

"That's for sure."

"Besides," Mike continued, looking down at his plate and trying not to smirk, "you've gotta start spending more time with that lovely lady of yours if you want to keep her, you know."

Steve froze and stared; Mike refused to look up but he did start to laugh.

"Do you think she can get that weekend off?"

Steve shrugged. "That's a good question. I'll ask the next time I talk to her…" He snorted. "God knows when that'll be…"

Mike looked at him and smiled. "I think we deserve an early night, don't you? Costas Petrou is not going to get any deader, and nobody's come forward to claim his body so I don't think there's a huge rush to bring to his killer to justice. So why don't we call it quits at say…" He glanced at his watch. "Say 10 o'clock at the latest?"

"That sounds like a good plan, yeah. If Mel's not home by then I can at least drop by the restaurant and say hi."

Mike nodded sharply, smiling. "Good for you. Say, ah, I have a thought. I'm, ah, I'm assuming, right, that you and Mel are hopefully going to go away that weekend, if she gets it off?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I'd like to take her to Tahoe… or somewhere like that. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking, Jeannie hasn't met Mel yet, so why don't we have you two over for a bar-b-que or something on the 4th and then you guys can head out either that night or the next day and still have your three-day weekend. How does that sound?"

The younger man grinned around a mouthful of fries, nodding.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mike chuckled as he raised his burger to take another bite.

# # # # #

"So I guess she was surprised when you strolled into the restaurant last night, I bet?"

Mike chuckled as the LTD turned onto Powell.

Steve started to nod as he brought the car to a smooth stop behind a station wagon at the red light. "She sure was. The chef recognized me and he let her go early so I drove her home."

"Ah ha," Mike mused slowly and suggestively, "that's why there was a note under the wiper this morning. telling me not to pick you up…"

Laughing, Steve glanced across the front seat. "It was too late to call you – I didn't want to wake you up… so we decided to swing by your place on the way home and leave a message. And I was in no mood to climb all your stairs so I thought a note under the windshield wiper would work just as well." He pulled the car to the curb in front of the Carlton Hotel and they both got out.

A young man in a burgundy livery jacket approached the driver's side, his hand out for the keys. Both men slipped their badges out of their pants pockets and held them out for the valet to see. He nodded and backed away as Steve pulled the heavy glass door open and Mike preceded him into the ornate lobby.

R&I had provided them with a photocopy of Laurence McCormick's DMV photo. The desk clerk didn't recognize him and neither did the on-duty concierge but as McCormick had only stayed for one night, that wasn't unusual. The Carlton had a large and constantly changing clientele.

Ten minutes later they were back in the car and on the road towards the Hall of Justice. Mike, his reading glasses on, was looking at Steve's notepad. He snapped it shut and put it on the seat between them, taking off his glasses and stuffing them into his inside jacket pocket.

"Well, we now know whoever it was impersonating Larry McCormick somehow got ahold of his credit card. Hopefully it won't take them too long to give us McCormick's address and maybe we can talk to him this afternoon. Five'll get you ten he was robbed or pickpocketed. What do you think?"

Grunting, Steve nodded. "He might not even know he's missing it, if it's still in use."

Mike shrugged slightly. "Yeah, you could be right. I don't use my card too often. It could be days before I knew if mine was missing." He suddenly shifted position, reaching into his pants pocket for his wallet and opening it quickly. He chuckled almost embarrassedly before closing the wallet and putting it back in his pocket.

Steve laughed gently. A companionable silence filled the car. They turned onto Bryant, approaching the Hall.

Mike started to chuckle. Steve glanced across the front seat. "What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking, I was standing in my kitchen last night, dying of the heat… every window in my place is open but it doesn't seem to make any difference… So I open the fridge door and I'm looking at everything on the shelves and I'm thinking – 'the food in my fridge is actually more comfortable than I am right now… how fair is that?' I was actually jealous of the food in my refrigerator…." He started to laugh.

Steve looked across the front seat, his brows knit, then started to chuckle. They were still laughing when the sedan came to a stop in the last shady parking spot alongside the tall grey building.

# # # # #

"Okay, I just heard from Chargex about McCormick's card," Steve started relaying the information before he got to Mike's door, "and he lives over on 23rd. You want I should call him or do you want to do a drop-in?"

Mike glanced at his watch, frowning. "It's the middle of the day so he's probably at work, right? You don't happen to know where that is, do you?"

Steve grinned. "As a matter of fact, I do. He works for Precision Realty on Franklin." He raised his eyebrows.

Mike was already getting to his feet, opening the top desk drawer and taking his .38 out. As he clipped it onto his belt, he rounded the desk towards the coat rack. "Right now, Smiley, I'd use any excuse to get out of this greenhouse, wouldn't you?"

Chuckling, Steve grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair as he followed his partner across the bullpen and out the door.

# # # # #

"Mr. McCormick?" Mike asked genially, holding out his I.D. and star as the short, balding middle-aged man opened the door and entered the small conference room.

"Um, yes…" McCormick confirmed nervously, his eyes flicking from the older detective to the younger one and back again.

"I'm Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller," Mike indicated with a nod over his shoulder as he put the leather case back in his pants pocket. "We just have a couple of questions about your credit card."

McCormick's worried expression quickly turned into one of confusion. "My credit card? What do you mean?"

"Mr. McCormick, do you have your Chargex credit card on you?"

The smaller man shook his head slightly in confusion then reached towards his back pants pocket. "Yes, of course, I always carry it with me. I don't use it too often so…" He opened the wallet and froze, then started to paw through the billfold, which was stuffed with what looked like receipts and business cards. After several frantic seconds, he looked up. "It's not here…" he said quietly, sounding genuinely surprised.

"When was the last time you remember using it?" Steve asked calmly.

McCormick's gaze seemed to turn inward. "I don't know…" he said almost breathlessly. "It must have been… um, maybe a week and a half ago…?" His gaze refocused and looked at Mike. "I'm divorced, you know… and I only get to see my kids every second weekend. The last time I had them I took them to the zoo and then out to dinner. I used my card then, I know I did."

"And that was the last time?" Steve prompted.

McCormick nodded. "Yeah… yeah, I know it was. We went to Pasquale's Pizzeria near the beach. I used the credit card there, I'm sure I did."

Mike glanced at Steve and they both nodded slightly.

McCormick was looking down. "I must've left it there…" He looked up almost apologetically. "The place was really busy and my kids were excited. It was very… distracting. I must've left my card on the counter…or maybe they didn't hand it back…" His brow furrowed. "Why do you need to know about my card? Did somebody use it?"

Mike smiled and patted the smaller man's arm. "Don't you worry about that, Mr. McCormick. Just make sure your card has been reported stolen so there are no more charges on it, okay?"

McCormick nodded vigorously. "I'll do that right now. Thank you." He looked from one cop to the other again. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Steve shook his head. "No, thank you, Mr. McCormick, we have all we need."

# # # # #

As the glass door of the realtor's office closed behind him, Mike started to chuckle. "We're going to the beach." As he opened the car door, he looked over the roof. "And Pasquale's has very good pizza. You up for an early lunch?"


	6. Chapter 6

Tie in his jacket pocket, which was in the back seat, and his sleeves rolled up, Steve was staring out the windshield through his thick dark glasses, a toothpick sticking out between his lips. Mike, the fedora over his eyes and his head back against the seat, hands folded across his stomach, moaned with pleasure as the sedan turned onto Sloat, heading east.

"Well," the older man murmured, "we may not have made any headway in our case but the pizza sure was good." He patted his stomach and chuckled.

Steve snorted in agreement. "I might even have to skip dinner."

Mike nodded vaguely. "So, what do we know so far about our Mr. Goodman?" he asked rhetorically. "Well, he booked himself into the Carlton about a week ago for one night. He paid cash, which, for a fairly high-end hotel, I think is a little strange but the hotel certainly didn't seem to. Other than his name, we don't know anything else about him, not even where he's from but we're pretty sure he's not a local, although we could be wrong about that. Goodman, of course, could be an alias.

"We do know that, according to Bernie, sometime between 3 and 4 in the morning he was beaten to death in his room and no one heard a thing. People working at the hotel that night don't remember any strangers, or guests they didn't recognize, coming into or leaving the hotel around that time, and it was a quiet Wednesday night so they would remember that more than, let's say, if it was a Friday or Saturday. And the background checks on the hotel staff on duty that night came back clean."

"Do you think we should check out the off-duty staff as well? I mean, someone who wasn't working that night may have a master key and could slip back into the hotel pretty easy, don't you think?"

Mike's head came off the seat slightly and he looked at his partner from under the hat brim. "That's a good idea. I'll call the hotel again when we get back to the office. And I want to see if the FBI has been able to find a fingerprint match from 'Mr. Goodman's' body for us. It would make our lives a little easier, wouldn't it, if it turned out he had a record somewhere?" He sighed. "Ah, we should be so lucky…"

A silence settled over the car for a few beats then Mike sighed loudly again. "You know, I can't remember when we've had two cases with so little to go on… I'm beginning to think we may not solve either of them, especially not before the 4th anyway. But, either way, we are both taking that weekend off."

Steve laughed, nodding. "I like the sound of that."

"Did you mention getting the weekend off to Mel last night?"

"I did but she's not sure and she doesn't want to ask the chef yet… she's still a little unsure of her status there and the 4th is always a big weekend for them, she's heard. It'll be her first 4th working there, of course, so she might be bottom of the totem pole in terms of seniority and the one that has to work the holiday weekend."

Mike shrugged under the hat. "Well, I can understand that – paying your dues and all that. I had to work my share of holidays – Christmas, New Year's, the 4th –when I was a rookie… and every time I was transferred. You always start out on the bottom rung but, as far as I'm concerned, it's worth the climb."

Steve nodded as he turned the car from Market onto 14th. Suddenly the radio crackled to life. _"Attention all units, shots fired at The Armory, all units in the vicinity of 14__th__ and Mission respond!"_

Mike already had the mic in his hand and he pressed the Talk button. "Inspectors 8-1, we're on 14th, approaching Mission! We'll respond!" He hung up and glanced at his partner, who had snapped on the siren and stepped on the gas, trying to maneuver the huge sedan through the noon hour traffic. He reached under his seat and grabbed the cherry, turning it on before reaching out the already open side window and slapping it on the roof over his head.

"I thought they were closing that place down!" Steve shouted over the din.

Mike, who had braced himself with a foot on the dash and a hand on the ceiling, glanced over. "Next year, I think! I don't think there's too many guys left!"

The LTD drifted slightly as Steve made a tight, fast turn onto Mission. There were several men in uniform milling about on the sidewalk in front of the double wooden doors midway down the block in the middle of the towering red brick Moorish fort-like building that covered half of the entire city block. They were the first cops on the scene.

Mike was halfway out before the car had rocked to a stop, using his right leg to prevent the heavy door from snapping back on him. His .38 was in his hand as he approached the senior officer who hurried towards them. Mike eyed the insignia on the uniform. "What's going on, Sergeant?"

The Master Sergeant was obviously distraught. "We're not exactly sure," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Some of my boys reported shots in the Drill Court." His eyes snapped briefly from Mike to Steve, who had joined his partner on the sidewalk. "We don't know if it's one of our guys or what but it could be somebody from the outside. This place is not exactly Fort Knox anymore, now that it's being shut down."

"Do you have any idea what may have happened? Anybody?" Steve asked, glancing at the younger National Guardsmen that had gathered around them. The sound of approaching sirens could be heard.

The Master Sergeant shook his head, as did the others.

"How easy is it for someone to get their hands on a gun in there?" Mike asked and the sergeant smiled mirthlessly.

"It was an armory, officer –"

"Lieutenant," Mike corrected him. "Lieutenant Stone. This is Inspector Keller." Steve nodded.

"Lieutenant, and we still have some firearms on the premises," the Guardsman continued.

"Yeah, I guess there was quite the arsenal in there. Where was the shooting coming from?"

"The Drill Court, up in the bleachers by the far end of the administration offices," a private standing near Steve offered.

Mike took a step toward the front doors.

"You know where that is?" the sergeant called after him.

Mike turned back briefly as he pulled the heavy door open with his left hand. "I've been to a couple of fights here." He held the door open for Steve and they stepped into the darkened and deserted lobby.

The air was thick and humid. They exchanged a glance, both of them straining to hear anything that would tell them where the shooter was; there was no sound whatsoever. Mike gestured to their right and, guns at the ready and every sense on high alert, they started down the long hallway.

They reached a stairwell and Mike pushed the swinging door open slowly and quietly, hoping it didn't squeak. Pleasantly surprised when it didn't, they both stepped through and started slowly and soundlessly up the stairs, pausing on the second floor to push open the door and listen before continuing up.

Mike opened the door on the third floor and held it while Steve stepped quickly into the hall, in a half-crouch, his gun preceding him and Mike close on his heels. The long corridor was deserted, with rows of closed office doors on each side. Through the office windows they could hear more approaching sirens, relieved to know that backup was close behind.

Mike nodded to his left and they started silently but swiftly down the short corridor towards another large set of wooden doors. Waiting for a couple of beats, cocking his head to listen, Mike grabbed the handle and pulled the heavy door open and they stepped into the cavernous, and incredibly impressive, Drill Court. Though the only illumination was the sunlight spilling through the tall thin windows on the three opposite walls, it was breathtaking.

Steve's eyes grew wide with shock and surprise as he took in the sight before him; they were standing at the back of several rows of bleacher seats that ran around the entire second storey perimeter of the enormous room with the vaulted roof. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the younger man couldn't suppress a gasp. Mike smiled briefly. "You've never been here, have you?" he whispered and Steve shook his head.

They could hear running footsteps echoing from somewhere on the other side of the Court; both detectives froze, trying to pinpoint the exact location. Finally Steve pointed down, towards the boxing ring surrounded by rows and rows of wooden seats at the centre of the lower floor. They could see a shadowy figure bolting up one of the rows away from them.

"Over here!" Mike barked and he started to sprint to the right, around the bleacher rows to one end of the Court. He slowed, taking the steps two at a time as he led Steve to the lower floor. At the far end of the Court they heard a door swing close.

Charging across the huge room, through the sea of wooden chairs in neat rows around the elevated ring, Steve passed his partner, making it to the far door three strides before the older man. Pausing briefly to catch his breath and for Mike to join him, he grabbed the door handle and slowly pulled it open, listening carefully once more before stepping quickly into the corridor, facing right. Mike was right behind him, looking left.

It was deserted in both directions. Sharing a glance and nodding, they moved slowly and cautiously away from each other. The far side of the corridor was lined with closed doors, and each and every one of them had to be checked out, they knew. Where was the backup?

Steve approached the first door, trying to discern any movement through the opaque glass before turning the knob slowly with his left hand. It opened easily and silently and he stepped into what looked to be an empty classroom. There was nowhere for anybody to hide and he stepped back into the corridor. He began to close the door then thought better of it and left it open.

As he moved to the next door he glanced down the corridor. Mike was just exiting his first room and they made brief eye contact, both shaking their heads.

The next two sets of rooms they both checked were also empty. Steve was just stepping out of his fourth room when he heard it. A gunshot. It sounded far away, but it was definitely a shot and his head had spun automatically to his left when he heard it.

Mike was already on the move, running back towards the doors that led into the Drill Court. Had their shooter somehow doubled back into the Court? The door was closing when he got to it; Mike was already halfway to the ring and he sprinted to catch up.

Hearing the heavy footsteps behind him, Mike looked over his shoulder. "He went through there!" he gasped, gesturing at the doors slightly ahead and to their right. His pointed at the set of doors at the far end of the Court. "You take those ones, maybe can trap him between us!" He made a sharp turn at the next row and headed towards the first set of doors he'd indicated.

Steve put on an extra burst of speed and quickly covered the distance to the far doors. He slowed slightly before grabbing the handle then yanked the door opened and launched himself into corridor.

And right into the sights of a .38 pointing directly at his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve slid to a stop, his eyes riveted on the barrel of the gun pointed at him, bracing himself for the shot he knew was coming. He caught a shimmer of light glinting off what seemed to be a badge on the chest of the dark figure in front of him.

Taking a gamble, he raised both hands quickly, the barrel of his own .38 facing the ceiling. "Hey man, I'm a cop!" he almost yelled, trying to control the sudden panic in his voice.

The barrel of the gun wavered. From somewhere to his right came Mike's frantic shout: "Officer!" He could hear his partner rapidly approaching, his footsteps and voice getting louder. "Officer!" he called again, then softer, "Son… son… "

Mike walked slowly and cautiously into Steve's peripheral vision, both hands out placatingly, his eyes riveted on the profile of the young cop pointing his service revolver at his partner. "Listen to me, son…" he continued soothingly, glancing quickly at Steve, "I'm Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller… he's my partner… he's not the man we're chasing, son…"

Steve swallowed heavily, trying to stay as still as possible. The young cop wasn't moving, his eyes - wide, scared and unblinking – were locked on the inspector's face, his finger wrapped around the trigger of the shaking .38.

Mike shot another quick glance at his immobile partner before taking a noiseless step forward again. "Lower your gun, son…" he said quietly, raising his right arm a little higher as he slowly approached the patrolman till he was close enough to put his hand on top of the .38 and gently start to push the barrel down.

The action seemed to snap the young cop out of his trance and he dropped his head with a gasp, taking a step back. Mike kept his hand on the .38, making sure it was no longer pointing at Steve. "Let go of the gun, patrolman," Mike said a little more forcefully, becoming the superior officer again.

"Adams!" A strong, almost frantic voice yelled from behind them, and they could hear the sound of heavy footsteps getting closer and closer.

Mike, the .38 now safely in his hand, looked at Steve, who had dropped his head, gulping air as he walked in tight circles. He glanced up and Mike caught his eye; the older man shook his head slowly, in relief, exhaling loudly with a mirthless chuckle, trying to catch his breath as well. They shared a tiny, grateful smile just as Sergeant Barry Schiff almost slid to a stop beside them.

The tall grey-haired uniformed officer took in the situation quickly, glancing at all three, eyeing the .38 in Mike's hand, the drained but relieved looks of the two detectives and the shaking, gasping, wide-eyed rookie between them. "What the hell happened, Adams?" Schiff growled, frowning.

Mike, after a quick glance at the distraught young cop, looked at Schiff. "He, ah, he thought Steve was the guy we were chasing, Barry. It's okay, nothing happened."

Schiff, who had continued to stare at Adams, let his eyes slide towards the lieutenant. Mike held up the .38 and raised his eyebrows. With a frustrated sigh, Schiff took the gun then looked at Steve almost apologetically. With a nod, he turned back to Mike. "Thanks, Lieutenant, I'll, ah… I'll take it from here."

Mike nodded, glanced at Adams then, gathering Steve with nod, turned and started down the corridor. He wanted to get his partner away from the others before he spoke. They were several yards away, Steve trailing slightly behind, before he turned and asked quietly, "You okay?"

Still breathing heavily, more from the residual fear than the exertion, Steve nodded. He raised his right hand and wiped at the sweat that was trickling down his face then half-heartedly attempted to dry his hand on his pants. He stopped walking and put his fists on his hips, looking at the floor and shaking his head. "That was way too close, Mike."

"I know, I know," the older man agreed softly, taking a step closer. "But listen, ah… we're gonna let Barry deal with it, okay? He's the best training officer there is and he knows what went down right now. It'll be up to him to decide if he thinks Adams should be a street cop or not…"

Steve had raised his head and stared at him, brows knit. "He almost shot me, Mike –"

"I know, I know," the older man said quickly again, raising his hands and bowing his head slightly in contrition. "And I'm not taking that lightly, not for a second, and you know that. But let's face it, Steve, you're not exactly dressed like a cop right now and this is a pretty nerve-racking situation to toss a rookie into, wouldn't you say?"

The door at the far end of the corridor opened quickly and two uniformed patrolmen, guns drawn, started towards them. "We got him, Lieutenant!" one of them called out, obviously recognizing the Homicide detectives, as they moved past and further down the corridor towards Schiff and Adams.

Mike nodded with a satisfied smile. "Thanks, John." He looked at his partner and his smile got a little wider. He put his right arm around the younger man's shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. "You wanna get outa here?" he chuckled.

With a dry snort, Steve slipped out from under the light embrace and took a step towards the far doors. "You bet I do."

They were crossing the now crowded sidewalk when Mike turned to the younger man again. "Aren't you in the least bit curious about who we were chasing?" There was a lightness in his tone that belied the seriousness of the question.

Steve stopped beside the driver's side door and looked over the roof of the LTD. "I can wait to find out. It's not our business anymore, is it?" He gestured towards the group of uniformed patrolmen and officers in front of the imposing red brick building.

Mike looked over his shoulder then back. "No, I guess it isn't." As he opened the passenger door and got into the car, taking the cherry off the roof and stuffing it under the seat, he chuckled. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Running around in all that heat…? And on a full stomach? I'm surprised I didn't have a heart attack."

With a soft snort and brief smile, Steve started the car. Mike could tell he was still upset about what had just happened, and justifiably so, but he didn't want the younger man to dwell. There would be plenty of time for that when he was home alone that night with a drink in front of him.

Waiting until Steve had maneuvered the large sedan through the obstacle course of abandoned cruisers parked haphazardly up and down Mission, Mike suddenly sat to attention and turned to stare at his partner's sun-glassed profile. "Turn left on Van Ness," he barked.

Frowning, Steve glanced across the front seat. "What?"

"You heard me. Turn left on Van Ness."

The younger man knew that was not the way back to the Hall of Justice, but it was the way to the Golden Gate. "Why?"

"Because we're taking the next part of the afternoon off," came the firm reply.

Feeling the older man's eyes still on him, Steve slumped slightly and a smile began to tug at his lips. He knew what was going on. "Mike, I don't need to –"

"This isn't about you, buddy boy, it's about both of us. We're burning out, Steve, and you know that just as well as I do. And if we're not careful, we're going to start making mistakes too… just like that rookie almost did." Mike stopped himself and snorted softly. "You may not need a break, but I do. So I want us to take the next couple of hours off and just, I don't know… chill out, like the kids say, right?"

Steve had turned the car onto Van Ness, becoming part of the traffic that was wending its way towards the Bridge and Marin County. He smiled to himself, softly and slowly shaking his head. "So where are we gonna go?" he asked quietly.

With a grin, Mike sat back. "You ever been to Rodeo Beach?"

Steve shook his head a little faster. "Nope. Where is it?"

"You know where the Point Bonita Lighthouse is?"

"Yeah, I've been there."

"Well, Rodeo Beach is just beyond that. It's a good place to go for a walk in the sea air."

"In the sand? We're not really dressed for walking in the sand…"

"It's not sand," Mike grinned. "It's mostly small stones, so we are kinda dressed for it. And this time of year it sometimes stays foggy all day so it's bound to be a lot cooler than here, so…? Sound like a good idea?"

Appreciative of the older man's efforts, Steve smiled and nodded.

With a deep chuckle, satisfied that he was doing all he could at the moment to assuage the fried nerves they were both experiencing, Mike leaned back in the seat, letting the fedora slide down over his eyes and resting his clasped hands across his stomach. "Wake me when we get over the Bridge, okay?"

# # # # #

Mike had been right; the morning fog had lingered and the beach air was cool and damp. There were a few other people, alone or in pairs, weaving their way slowly up and down the beach but for the most part they had it to themselves. Though their shirts were open at the collar and they remained tieless, they were both wearing their jackets, the only concession needed for the change in temperature from the scorching city heat.

They had walked in silence for several minutes, hands stuffed in pants pockets, Steve looking out at the whitecaps dotting the waves. Mike was a couple of steps behind, looking down, the fedora masking his eyes.

The younger man stopped walking, letting his partner catch up. "You know," he said finally, softly, "that's not the first time I've looked down the barrel of a gun in friendly hands. Remember Joe Landers?"

Mike snorted dryly. "Oh yeah, I remember Joe… he came after me too, remember?"

"Yeah… yeah, I remember." Landers had peppered Mike's office with several shots before Steve had managed to tackle him from behind, sending him through the glass panel on the office door.

"But that was different, Steve. Landers had a problem with the bottle, and a huge chip on his shoulder."

Steve nodded slowly, starting to walk again, "I know," he said softly, "and that's what I think scares me the most right now. This kid today… he's not mad and he's not a drunk… he was just a scared kid and a scared kid with a gun. I mean, is he really ready for the streets?"

Mike, falling into step beside him and looking down again, shook his head slowly. He shrugged. "I don't know, I really don't… I mean, it's up to the department to make that decision. And I trust them… I really do. There's nobody any better than Barry Schiff to make that decision. He's trained a lot of good cops and put them on the streets."

"But today… that's the second one, right?"

"The second…?"

"Yeah, remember I told you about the rookie that shot the robbery suspect the other day? He's gotta be from the same graduating class that… that … Adams came from, right?"

"More than likely, yeah," Mike agreed, nodding.

A silence lengthened between them as they pondered the thought; it was deeply disturbing to them both. Eventually Mike chuckled and Steve turned surprised eyes towards him. Mike glanced at him, smiling. "Maybe it's the weather… And maybe until this all sorts itself out, we should go back to wearing our coats and ties and maybe hang our badges around our necks… you know, until our fellas get better at recognizing who the bad guys are…?"

After a couple of seconds, Steve dropped his head and started to laugh. Mike joined him, taking a sideways step closer, taking his right hand out of his pocket and placing it on the back of the younger man's neck to gently shake him.

Eventually they turned around and started back down the beach towards their car and their eventual, and somewhat reluctant, return to The City.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hallelujah!" Haseejian crowed loudly as he stepped into the bullpen, his arms outstretched. He stopped in the centre of the room, every eye in the place on him, and spun slowly and theatrically. "I repeat… Hallelujah!"

Everybody laughed. Mike, who was standing in his office doorway, his glasses in his hand, watched as the Armenian sergeant acknowledged his colleagues applause with a series of deep bows. Grinning, the tall lieutenant put his glasses in his pocket and clapped. "All right, Norm, you win the prize for the most over-the-top reaction to the break in the weather."

"Ta-da…" Haseejian finished with a deep bow and flourish towards his boss. "Thank you…"

As the others returned to their work, Steve leaned back in his chair. "You know it's only temporary, right?" he asked Haseejian who had moved to the coffee table outside Mike's office door. "The heat's supposed to come back in a couple of days…"

The coffee pot in his hand, Haseejian turned sharply, feigning indignation. "Hey," he growled in a loud stage whisper, pretending to glance furtively around the room, "quit trying to rub the gild off the lily, okay?"

Laughing and shaking his head, Steve returned to the sheaf of papers on the desk in front of him. He picked up a couple of sheets, got up and crossed to his partner's office. Mike was on the phone so, after closing the door, he dropped into the guest chair and waited.

"Yeah… yeah, okay… Okay, thanks… Yeah, talk to you later." Mike hung up, staring at the phone for several silent seconds before he looked up. He was frowning. "That was Rudy. They still don't have any word on when we'll get the go ahead to transfer someone in here…" His quick smile was perfunctory and humourless. "So I guess we just have to keep plugging ahead…" He shook his head almost sadly. "Sorry…"

"Hey, it's not your fault," Steve assured quickly, leaning forward and holding up the papers in his hand. "Listen, ah, still no word from the FBI, or anywhere for that matter, on those 'Goldman' fingerprints. Seems our dead guy doesn't have a record, at least a federal record, which may be a good thing… I mean, not for us, obviously, but at least we know he wasn't a federal fugitive or something like that…" He looked up into his partner's confused and slightly amused eyes.

Mike smiled warmly and chuckled. "You're desperately trying to find a silver lining in all this, aren't you?"

Steve grinned and tilted his head, eyebrows raised.

"Well, don't think I don't appreciate it, but it would be nice if we could get somewhere with these investigations…" He sighed and pointed at the phone. "I'm just waiting for that to ring again and then we'll have another case on our hands."

"Well, maybe the change in the weather will make people more… I don't know, tolerant…?" Steve raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Mike stared at him for a couple of long immobile seconds then closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, chuckling. "And I thought I was the eternal optimist…"

Laughing, Steve got to his feet. "So what do you want to do about Petrou?"

Mike snorted and shrugged. "Yikes, talk about another dead end…" Over the past three days they had managed to track down all but two of the sixteen transvestites they had been looking for and subsequently had been able to permanently strike their names from the list of possible suspects after confirming their alibis. It seemed to be the only progress they had made in ages.

The older man leaned back in the chair and shrugged, "Well, we could go out and… pound the pavement," he chuckled, "to see if we can locate those last two ladies. You want to do that?"

"Tonight?" Steve asked with a slight hint of angst in his voice, trying not to grimace.

It wasn't lost on his partner, who inclined his head slightly. "What? You and Mel have a chance to get together tonight…?"

Almost reluctantly, Steve nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed softly, not wanting to press the issue if Mike really needed him to stay. "But don't worry about –"

"No no no," Mike cut him off, raising his hands as he leaned forward, shaking his head. "I know how hard it's been for you two to coordinate your free time lately. And you deserve a night off." He flicked his right hand. "Go, go."

Steve hesitated for a split second before frowning slightly. "You sure?"

Mike nodded with a smile. "Of course I'm sure. But tonight, though, right? I mean, not _now_…"

Chuckling, Steve nodded. "Yeah, I know that. It's only 10 am." He had just turned towards his desk when Mike's phone rang. He spun back as Mike grabbed the receiver.

"Homicide, Stone…" He listened for several seconds then pulled the pad of yellow legal paper closer and picked up a pen. "Yeah… yeah…" He was scribbling furiously. "Yeah…. Okay, we'll be there as soon as we can," he finished, glancing up towards his partner, who was already on his way to his desk. "What did I tell ya?" he called out as he hung up, got to his feet and opened the top drawer, snapping the .38 on his belt as he crossed to the coat rack and grabbed his jacket. As he strode past Steve's desk, he grumbled, "A stabbing over on the pier at Hunter's Point. One dead at the scene and a suspect on the run."

# # # # #

There were four black-and-whites, their lights still flashing, on the scene when they arrived. They were met by a uniformed sergeant as they got out of the car and approached the large warehouse, it's huge garage-type door standing open. "Lieutenant, Inspector," the grizzled veteran nodded in salutation as they approached.

"What's going on, Sal?" Mike smiled as his eyes swept the area, noting the lack of urgency. He pointed at the cops standing around and shrugged with a chuckle. "I mean, why did you call us in if you got this wrapped up already?"

Sergeant Salvatore Crosetti bestowed his most snidely patronizing glare on the taller detective, who was staring at him with an expectant, eyebrows-raised stare. Steve bit his bottom lip and looked away. The sergeant's dark eyes slid from the lieutenant to the inspector. "How do you work with this guy?" he asked flatly and Steve's discreet cough turned into a full-throated laugh.

"What?" Mike asked with wide-eyed innocence, looking from the sergeant to his partner and back.

Crosetti turned his attention back to Mike and shook his head with a deep breath that bordered on a sigh. "We've just got the body here, Mike, but whoever did it is long gone. So that's your department, I believe." He turned to lead them into the warehouse.

Mike glanced at Steve with a wink and a chuckle before following the sergeant. A couple of officers were standing over a body at the far end of the almost deserted warehouse. Mike glanced around. "I thought this was a ship repair pier, Sal. Why is this place so empty?"

"Yeah, I thought so too," Crosetti said over his shoulder, "but that guy over there," he gestured towards a bearded older man in grey workclothes and a greasy dark baseball cap talking to a patrolman, "said this place has been empty for over a year. Most of the ship building and repair business has been moved north to the other side the Bridge."

Mike, knowing that Crosetti meant the Bay Bridge, nodded. They had reached the body; it was a young black man. He was lying on his back, his once-white tank top stained red with the still wet blood. Four stab wounds could be seen in the corpse's chest.

"Any I.D.?" Steve asked as he crouched to get a closer look but staying far enough away to avoid contamination. Mike leaned forward slightly.

"Not that we could find but we have to wait for the M.E. to get here before we roll him, of course. We've haven't found the murder weapon, but there is a trail of blood leading out that door there." He pointed to their left, to the door that led to the waterfront. "We can't tell if it's cast-off from the knife or blood from the perp. Again, we'll leave that for the M.E. to decide."

Nodding, Mike straightened up. "Okay, thanks." He was all business now.

"So, gentlemen, it's all yours. I'll leave a unit here with you but I need to get my guys back on the road. I'll make sure all the reports are on your desk before end of shift."

Mike tore his eyes away from the body. "Yeah, thanks, Sal." He nodded and smiled, almost in apology. "Good job, as always, thanks."

With a nod of his head and a smile, Crosetti backed away. Steve stood and turned to his partner. As they heard the uniformed sergeant barking orders to the other teams, he asked, "So, where do you want to start?"

Mike inhaled deeply, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. "Well, we really can't do too much with the body until Bernie or one of his guys gets here." He tilted his head towards the door on their left. "Let's do a walk-around, okay, see if we can see something Sal and his boys may have missed."

Steve nodded at the young officer assigned to guard the body as he and Mike started slowly towards the far door, both keeping their eyes on the intermittent drops of blood Crosetti had mentioned. There was smeared blood on the crash bar of the large gunmetal grey door.

Mike looked at his partner and snorted. "Well, I guess we're gonna have to walk around the building if we want to know what's on the other side, don't we?"

Steve nodded with a chuckle. "Well, we do have some time to kill and it's not as hot as hell out there anymore."

# # # # #

Four hours later, they were back at Bryant Street. An assistant M.E. and a photographer had shown up at the scene shortly after their walk-around and a little less than two hours later the scene had been processed and the body on its way to the coroner's office for autopsy. Fingerprints had been taken and were being processed through R&I.

Mike had put in a call to the precinct commander for that area and was waiting to hear back. He wanted to find out what activity, legal or illegal, had been reported in and around the abandoned warehouses in Hunter's Point.

It was turning into a very busy day, but one both he and his partner were actually relishing. After almost two weeks of fruitless dead ends in their other two open cases, it was nice to have one that they thought they could resolve in a matter of days, if not hours.

Steve hung up the phone and shot to his feet. "Success," he grinned as he crossed to the inner office door. "We got an I.D. on our body."

"That was fast," Mike snorted, looking up from the file he was studying.

Steve dropped into the guest chair, reading from his notebook. He glanced up briefly. "They're sending his sheet up but he's Leonard John Macklinberg, twenty-one, of no fixed address at the moment but he does have a record. Mostly juvie stuff – breaking and entering, theft, GTA, but he's on probation for assault. Seems he stabbed another young man of questionable background in a fight six months ago…over on Vallejo and Broderick. Drugs." He glanced up at his partner and snorted.

"Ha, color me surprised. He run with anybody?" Mike asked, pointing vaguely towards the notebook.

"Yeah," Steve said slowly, trying to locate that information on the crowded page, "yeah, here it is… two guys actually. A David Anthony Stanford and a Michael James Guillaume." He looked up. "I've asked for their sheets too."

"Good. Good work. Let me know when they –" The phone on his desk rang and Mike picked it up before the first ring died. "Homicide, Stone…. Yes, yes, thank you, Commander Peters, thanks for returning my call so quickly." He pulled the pad of yellow legal paper closer and picked up a pen. "Yes, I have a couple of questions for you. We had a murder in one of the warehouses in Hunter's Point…"

Steve got up and left the office, closing the door discreetly behind him; things were moving along nicely for a change. He had just dropped into his chair when he heard what sounded like a small stone hitting a window. He looked up frowning then turned towards the inner office.

Mike was looking at him through the glass. He was still on the phone but with his left hand he held up the pad so it was facing through the window. Steve shook his head slightly, confused. With an obvious sigh, Mike dropped the pad and raised his left forearm, wiggling his wrist so his watch was visible. He turned the face towards the window and looked at it pointedly. Still confused, Steve shrugged. He was usually pretty good at reading his partner's silent commands but this one had him stumped.

Tossing his head back slightly in frustration, Mike, continuing to talk into the receiver, picked up the pad again and held it out further. Baffled, Steve finally got to his feet and moved closer to the window.

**GET OUT OF HERE** was written in large block letters on the pad. Steve frowned then started. He looked at his own watch: 6:10. Breaking into a wide smile, he turned quickly to his desk, picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and, with a warm backward glance, almost jogged out of the office.


	9. Chapter 9

"Well, this is a real treat," she said almost breathlessly, bathing him in the warmth of her soft blue eyes. She was holding her half-filled glass of chardonnay towards him at a slight angle, smiling seductively. "Once again, thank you…"

With a self-conscious smile, he laid the fork on the side of his plate and picked up his own glass. Looking into her eyes, he gently clinked his glass against hers then raised it slightly. "And again, you are most very welcome."

Her throaty giggle reached his ears as they both took sips then put their glasses down. She turned to look out the window again. "I can't believe we're here… it's just as magical as I thought it would be… and as expensive," she made a face at him, pretending to suppress a shudder with a tiny laugh.

Steve chuckled as he picked up the napkin from his lap and quickly wiped his lips.

"Well, it's been so long since we've had the same night off I thought we deserved a little treat. Besides, I didn't want you to have to cook so I thought, hey, let's really celebrate."

"Ah, that's really sweet," Mel sighed as she picked up her fork and delicately stabbed a clam. It was halfway to her mouth when her hand froze and she leaned forward slightly. "But Scomas's? I mean, Steve, ever since I came to The City I've dreamed about eating here." She stared at him with a loving smile and sighed then straightened up slightly. "Okay, then, tit for tat. You have to promise me that if someone is murdered on the wharf tonight," she nodded vaguely towards the moonlit pier out the window, "that you're not going to leave this table. Deal?"

Steve laughed and sat back, grinning. "Deal."

"Good," she nodded curtly then elegantly put the fork in her mouth. "Oh my god," she sighed after she had chewed and swallowed, closing her eyes, "I really have to figure out how they make these." Leaning quickly over the table, her eyes suddenly bright and mischievous, she beckoned him closer.

Intrigued, he leaned forward as well till they were almost nose-to-nose over the small table.

"Do you think they'd know if I stole their recipe to use in my own restaurant?" she stage whispered to him.

Without moving his head, he looked furtively from side to side. "I won't tell them if you don't."

Without looking, she picked up her wine glass and lifted it in a toast. "You're on," she giggled and sat back, her blue eyes dancing as she took a sip.

Shaking his head and chuckling, he straightened up, picked up his knife and fork and cut himself another piece of the large Gulf shrimp. He was just about to put it in his mouth when she suddenly started, her eyes snapping to his face again. The fork stopped in mid-air. "What?"

"I almost forgot," she said in a rush, "I got the weekend off."

"The 4th?" he asked eagerly.

She nodded vigorously. "Yep. Tony took pity on me, I guess. I haven't missed a shift and I covered for a couple of people who did, so I guess I worked my way into his good books."

Steve smiled proudly. "Good for you. So, ah, Thursday at the Stones then and Friday morning we'll head up to Tahoe…. How does that sound? I have to be back to work first thing Monday, so if we head home early Sunday evening we'll still have a couple of full days."

"That sounds absolutely wonderful," she sighed heavily, staring at him with warm and grateful eyes. "I really need to get away… and I know you do too…"

Smiling enigmatically, he leaned forward again and whispered. "Speaking of getting away," he began, staring intently into her curious eyes, "are you, ah… are you free to spend the night at my place tonight…?"

She frowned, looking down and took a deep breath. She began to shake her head. "Sorry, ah, I have to be at work…" She looked up straight into his eyes again. "For three o'clock tomorrow afternoon," she giggled sexily. "You better remember to set your alarm this time, big boy… you don't want to keep Mike waiting again, do you?"

Shaking his head and laughing, Steve sat back. "No, I do not want to do that again," he agreed as he tackled his shrimp once more.

# # # # #

Wearing a man's dressing gown, Mel waved to Mike from the doorway of the Union Street apartment as Steve, his jacket and tie over his arm, jogged down the steps and across the street to the far side of the tan LTD. Smiling, Mike waved back then turned to glance at his partner when the door closed and he shifted into Drive.

Mike cleared his throat as the car covered the short steep hill to Montgomery. "You, ah, you two have a good time last night?"

Grinning as he did up his collar button, Steve looked across the front seat. "Oh yeah."

Nodding, Mike made the left hand turn. "You gave her a key?"

"Ah, yeah… yeah, I did." Steve had slipped the tie around his neck and was tying a half-Windsor.

Chuckling, Mike continued to stare out the windshield. Steve glanced over; he knew the older man was secretly pleased that things seemed to be going so well in his relationship.

"So, ah, so I guess we can't call this a budding relationship anymore, can we, buddy boy? It seems to be in full bloom now, doesn't it?"

Steve laughed. "Yes, it does. Oh, ah, she got the weekend off so we're a go for Thursday."

Mike looked at him quickly, grinning. "Great! I'll call Jeannie tonight and let her know. I told her it might be a possibility so she's been working on a grocery list for me." He frowned to himself. "I'm gonna have to take some time off on Wednesday and do some grocery shopping…"

Steve looked across the front seat and smiled. "I can give you a hand with that."

Mike shot him another look, this one from under a furrowed brow. "You bet your -… you bet you're giving me a hand," he growled then started to laugh.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Steve sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride to the Hall. Despite the ongoing frustration of investigations that seemed to be going nowhere, life was good right now.

# # # # #

Mike was just about to drop the fedora on the coat rack when he noticed the message on his desk. He reached over and picked it up then turned quickly back towards the bullpen, putting the hat back on his head. "Don't take your coat off, we have a lead on one of our suspects."

Steve, whose jacket was half-off, froze briefly then shrugged it back on. Mike had circled his desk, picked up the phone receiver and dialed. Waiting for the call to connect, he pulled a notepad closer and picked up a pen. "Yeah, Stan, it's Mike… yeah…" He made a quick notation. "Yeah… okay, thanks."

He hung up, tore the page off the pad and started quickly into the bullpen. "They've got eyes on the guy our late Mr. Macklinberg was accused of assaulting last year. One Charles Watson. He's in a flop over on O'Farrell near Hyde." Mike was already at the office door, pulling it open. "Let's go have a talk with him, shall we?"

# # # # #

Steve pulled the LTD to the curb behind the black-and-white on Hyde. Mike got out and approached the driver's side door. Steve saw him lean close to the window and exchange several words with the uniformed officer behind the wheel.

Laughing and shaking his head, Mike returned to their car as Steve got out. "Watson's in a four-storey around the corner. He's in apartment B on top floor."

Steve frowned. "How do they know what apartment he's in?" he asked, knowing full well how impossible it would be for a uniformed officer to discreetly shadow a suspect, especially into a small building.

"Seems our patrolmen there," he nodded over his shoulder at the cruiser, "are pretty inventive. Come here." He gestured for Steve to follow him and they walked to the corner. Across the street on O'Farrell, several young men were hanging around outside a bodega.

Steve looked at his partner and shrugged. Smiling, Mike pointed at a young man in a white t-shirt sitting against the wall of an abandoned storefront a little further down the block. He was smoking, blowing out small but impressive rings. Steve's brow furrowed even more as Mike's soft chuckle reached his ears.

"He's one of ours. Actually, he's the partner of the patrolman in the black-and-white behind us." Mike sounded impressed. "He just took his shirt and tie off and mussed up his hair and look - he's blended right in."

Steve started to chuckle then nod. "Okay, I'm impressed."

"Me too," Mike agreed genially. "We're gonna have to keep an eye on this guy… he's gonna go far, I have a feeling."

"High praise, Lieutenant, high praise," Steve laughed then sobered. "So, how do you want to do this?"

Mike inhaled sharply. "Well, this Watson guy is just a suspect, right? So I don't want to go in guns blazing, so to speak. We just want to talk to him. But if he's guilty, he'll probably bolt. Let's get these two," he gestured at the cop already on O'Farrell and the one behind them in the car, "front and back and we'll go up and knock on the door. Work for you?"

"Works for me."

Five minutes later, everyone in place, Mike led the way up the four storeys to Apartment 4B. They listened for any sound of movement but heard nothing. With a glance at his partner, Mike knocked. Still nothing.

Mike knocked again, louder. In the ensuing silence, he tried the knob but it was locked. He looked at Steve and exhaled loudly in frustration. They knew Watson was inside; both uniformed cops had sworn to it.

Knowing they had no legitimate reason to kick the door in, Mike raised his fist and pounded on the door. "Charles Watson, this is the police!" He yelled. "We know you're in there! Open the door!"

The silence lengthened then suddenly they heard a metallic click like a lock being disengaged; the door opened a crack and then nothing. Sharing a glance, Mike slowly pushed the door open onto a room devoid of everything except a soiled mattress on the floor against the far wall surrounded by piles of garbage. The stench was almost overwhelming.

A gaunt barefoot spectre in a filthy t-shirt and jeans was standing just inside the door, against the wall, swaying precariously. His hollow eyes seemed to stare into nothing; they weren't even sure if he knew they were there.

With a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder at his partner, Mike moved slowly and carefully into the room, watching where he stepped. The entire floor was covered with discarded food containers, plastic and paper bags, and soft drink cans. There were several overflowing ashtrays throughout the cramped room and a small mirror on the mattress showing remnants of a fine white powder.

Leaving the door open, Steve took one step into the room, keeping an eye on Watson, who continued to stare vacantly, his head starting to droop. Mike turned to face the unresponsive young man. "Are you Charles Watson?"

He didn't move.

Sharing another glance, Mike asked again. "Are you Charles Watson?" He resisted the urge to reach out and shake the obviously high addict, reluctant to touch him. And from where he was standing, he couldn't tell if there were cuts on Watson's hands; cuts that might have come from stabbing someone.

Blinking heavily, the bleary-eyed head came up, struggling to focus on the older man, then began to nod almost somnambulantly. "Yeah," came the thick reply, "yeah…"

"Good," Mike muttered almost to himself, pleased they were finally getting somewhere. "Sit down," he ordered, pointing at the mattress but Watson didn't move. Glancing at Steve and shaking his head slightly in frustration, hoping they could get somewhere with Watson here instead of having to drag him to the Hall and wait for him to come down from his high, Mike took a step closer. "Mr. Watson, do you know a Leonard Macklinberg?"

That seemed to stir something. Watson's eyes focused a little more and slid from Mike to Steve. He licked his lips. Both cops tensed.

With a roar, Watson suddenly sprang to life. With unexpected speed, he raised both arms and slammed his hands into Mike's chest, pushing the older man back so quickly he lost his balance, stumbling over the garbage on the floor to fall heavily onto the mattress.

With a bellow, Watson threw himself at Steve, who was still near the door, driving his shoulder into the cop's midsection, doubling him over before he scrambled out of the room towards the stairs.

Steve, gasping for breath, glanced at Mike, who was trying to push himself up. He could hear the receding thud of Watson's heavy footsteps. He bolted into the corridor in time to see Watson's head disappear and he sprinted as fast as he could to the top of the stairs. The unsteady but determined junkie was gripping the railing in an attempt to maintain his balance.

Steve took two steps down and launched himself at Watson, wrapping his arms around the thin younger man, his weight and momentum propelling them both into the wall of the landing before they tumbled heavily down the second flight of stairs.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve, feeling pain all over, opened his eyes. He was staring at the peeling grey-blue paint of the stairwell ceiling, almost afraid to move in case something was broken. Watson, who was halfway under him, stared to stir. He felt the younger man plant a hand on his chest, pushing him away as he tried to crawl to his feet.

"Don't move!" came a low familiar growl from above and Steve's eyes slid towards the voice.

Mike was standing at the top of the stairs, the .38 in his right hand. Watson froze.

"Are you all right?" Mike asked, his worried eyes snapping back and forth between his partner and their suspect.

Steve blinked slowly a couple of times and took as deep a breath as he dared. "I think so," he said quietly, surprised to find his discomfort was rapidly receding.

"Get up," Mike ordered Watson, who was staring up at the older man through heavy-lidded but defiant eyes.

His hand still on Steve's chest, Watson pushed harder as he staggered to his feet. Steve, grunting from the pain, shouldered the junkie aside as slowly got up, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the agony of a broken bone but pleasantly shocked when he didn't feel anything untoward.

His gun still trained on Watson, Mike slowly descended the stairs. "Charles Watson, you're under arrest for assaulting a police officer." He glanced at his partner. "Steve, would you like to do the honors?"

Grinning coldly, the inspector turned Watson around and slammed him face first into the wall. "My pleasure," he muttered coldly, slipping the handcuffs off the back of his belt. As he recited Watson his Miranda rights from memory, he could feel Mike's eyes on him and he shot the older man a reassuring look.

Steve propelled Watson away from the wall and they started down the remaining flights of stairs to the small lobby and then out the door onto the sidewalk where the patrolman from the cruiser was waiting. As they marched Watson down the street and around the corner to the LTD, Mike looked sideways at his partner, trying to suppress a smile.

Steve had glanced over and seen the look. "What" he asked sharply as they approached their car.

Mike, who had jogged ahead slightly to open the back door, muttered under his breath, "You really didn't have to chase him, you know? We did have back-up, remember?"

Steve, who had belatedly realized that the moment he had thrown himself down the stairs, grumbled, "I know… I forgot." Putting his hand on the top of Watson's head, Steve forced the now complacent junkie into the back seat. He was just about to follow him in when he noticed Mike's left hand, which he was holding slightly away from his pants. "You're bleeding…"

Mike waggled his head with an annoyed grimace, knowing he'd been caught. He brought his hand up; blood was slowly pulsing from a small gash on the fleshy part of his palm below his little finger. "I landed on the damn mirror," he grumbled.

"I think that'll need a couple of stitches," Steve offered with raised eyebrows.

"I know," Mike grunted, "but I want to get him back to the Hall first, and then we'll both get checked out, okay?"

Smiling affectionately, Steve nodded as he got into the back seat beside Watson. "Try not to get too much blood on the steering wheel, will ya?" he chuckled.

Growling good-naturedly, Mike fished the clean white hanky from his right pants pocket and wrapped it around his hand before crawling in behind the wheel.

# # # # #

"So, what did the doc say?" Mike asked when Steve strolled into the examination room. His jacket off, vest and tie undone and sleeves rolled up, the older man was sitting on an examination table waiting for the emergency room doctor to return to put a couple of stitches in his hand which, still wrapped in the now-bloody hanky, he was holding up.

"Bruised," Steve announced lightly, smiling.

"Oh yeah? Bruised where?" Mike was going to make sure he got all the information from his recalcitrant partner.

"Right hand, upper chest, left knee and head, primarily. But none of them serious and nothing I should miss any work over."

"You sure?" Mike's eyes narrowed as he lowered his head.

"Scouts honor," he chuckled, raising two fingers to his forehead. "You can even ask my doctor yourself."

The door was pushed open quickly and a young resident, carrying a small folded towel, charged into the room. "Here we go, Lieutenant, this should only take –" He stopped short when he saw Steve. "Oh, hello."

"Doc, this is my partner, Inspector Keller."

Steve nodded.

"Inspector. So, were you a part of the lieutenant's little, ah… altercation too?" He deposited the towel on a nearby table and opened it, revealing everything needed for stitching.

"'Fraid so," Steve admitted with a smile and raised eyebrows.

"Well, he'll be out of here in a few minutes and the two of you can get back to keeping the streets safe. How does that sound?"

Mike looked at his partner and grinned.

# # # # #

Mike flexed his left hand as they got into the elevator in the Bryant Street lobby. There was a large square Band-Aid covering the two stitches in his palm. "At least it wasn't my gun hand," he mused with a chuckle. "But I sure hope it doesn't mean I'm in for seven years bad luck though. I kinda figure I have maybe seven years left on the street – I'd hate to think that all of them are gonna be bad." His infectious laugh filled the car and they were both still chuckling when the doors open and they stepped out on the 4th floor.

As he opened the door to their office, Mike looked back at his partner. "So, are you up to grilling our spaced-out little felon, if he's come down from Cloud Nine or wherever the hell he was?"

Steve grinned. "You bet I am."

# # # # #

"Ooooo, are you sure you're okay?"

Steve had debated telling Mel about their little dust-up but he didn't want to start out their relationship by keeping secrets. Being the spouse of a cop meant always facing the possibility of physical injury or even death, he knew, and honesty was always the best policy, he firmly believed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just a little stiff but nothing that a good hot bath can't cure."

"You sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure, I wouldn't lie to you, Mel, okay? So, ah, any chance you can get away early and maybe, ah… you know, maybe share that bath with me…?"

"Oh ho ho, you naughty boy…" Her throaty laughter always got his heart racing. "Of course I would love to but I can't get away tonight, not with Tony letting me go on Thursday for the long weekend…"

"I understand," Steve said slowly, trying to convey his disappointment over the phone, but he started to laugh.

"Don't worry," she chuckled, "we can share lots of baths at the cabin in Tahoe, right? Hey, wait – it does have a bathtub, doesn't it?"

"I don't remember," he said, trying to picture the cabin he hadn't been to in several years. "I think so. Anyway, if it doesn't, two in a shower is pretty sexy too…"

"Ohhhh, you better believe it…." she purred.

Laughing softly, he leaned back in the chair, and was just about to retort when he noticed Mike standing beside his desk, staring at him under raised eyebrows. Clearing his throat, Steve sat forward quickly. "Ah, listen, ah, I have to go. I'll, ah, I'll call you tomorrow… Yeah, he sure is," he said sotto voce, glancing up at his partner. "Yeah, me too." He hung up the receiver, swallowing heavily before raising his head and meeting the blue eyes. "That was Mel…" he said softly with a slight smile and a feeble gesture at the phone.

Mike tilted his head. "I certainly hope so…" he muttered enigmatically as he turned towards his office, trying to hide his grin.

# # # # #

They trudged wearily back to the inner office, Mike with his hands tucked into his back pockets, Steve rubbing the nape of his neck and trying to suppress a yawn. Mike stopped at the door, stretching his back muscles before turning to face his partner. He sighed loudly. "Well, that was a colossal waste of time, wasn't it?"

Dropping heavily into his chair, Steve put his feet up on the desk and chuckled. "Well, at least we can cross the little shit off our list."

Mike snorted. "Well, there's that. But we can still charge him with assault." He tilted his head, staring at the younger man. "What do you think?"

Steve frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm not going to press charges, he just pushed me down. It's up to you…"

Steve stared at his partner warily before a slight smile began to curl his lips. "Let's cut him loose."

Mike's face was suddenly split by a wide smile. It was what he was hoping to hear. Other than the obvious – that the young man was a junkie – Watson didn't have a record. And neither of them, it seemed, wanted to give him one. "Good plan." Chuckling and shaking his head, he turned and walked to his desk.

Sitting forward and pulling his telephone closer before lifting the receiver, Steve shouted towards the inner office. "You know this means we're now back to square one with three cases, right?"

"I know," came the resigned commiseration from the small, glass-walled room.

# # # # #

"Hey, I hate to do this but can you do me a favor and pick me up at Gino's Garage over on 25th near Indiana tomorrow morning? I want to drop my car off and have them check it out, you know, for the weekend."

"What, you don't think it'll make it to Tahoe and back?" Mike chuckled as he turned the LTD onto Union and braked to a stop before the blue-gray apartment with the white trim.

"Har-dee-har. It'll make it, no problem, I just want to get the oil changed and that kinda stuff."

"And maybe have it vacuumed…?" Mike muttered under his breath as Steve opened the door.

The younger man turned back. "What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing," Mike said quickly. "So, ah, I'll pick you up there at 7?"

"Make it 7:30, okay? They don't open till then." He had stepped out onto the curb and was just about to close the door.

"7:30? Who opens a shop at 7:30?"

"Italians," Steve answered with a chuckle as he slammed the door. He could hear Mike's laugh as the car pulled away from the curb.

# # # # #

"So do you need me to take you to that non-conformist car place of yours?" Mike asked with a smile when Steve returned to his desk mid-afternoon. They had both been busy in different parts of building most of the day, Steve in Records and Mike going to bat for his squad with the brass in the plusher fifth-floor offices. Neither of them had been having a good day.

"No, thanks," Steve sighed heavily as he dropped into his chair and ran a hand through his hair, trying not to yawn. "No, Lee has to drive out that way tonight and he said he'd drop me."

"Well, that's good 'cause I just got a call from Jeannie and she managed to make an earlier bus and she's going to be home tonight instead of tomorrow." Mike sounded like the cat that ate not only the canary but all the other birds as well.

Steve sat up, grinning. "Hey hey, that's great. So she'll be home a little longer than you thought."

Mike had moved to his office door and was leaning against the frame. He waggled his head slightly. "Well, it's just one more day but I'll take it. And it also means you're off the hook for coming grocery shopping with me tomorrow."

"Awww, and I was so looking forward to it, I really was," Steve bemoaned theatrically.

"Yeah, right," Mike chuckled. He turned back into his office.

"Hey, uh," Steve called and he spun back. "So what do you need Mel and me to bring on Thursday?"

Mike shrugged. "A bottle of wine… and your appetites?"

# # # # #

"Mike!" Jeannie called as she jumped off the bottom step of the bus and hurried towards her waiting father, who was leaning against the hood of the tan LTD. He pushed himself up and wrapped her in a bear hug, growling, then pushed her away to stare into her face, grinning. He pulled her close to give her a big kiss then held her out again.

"You look wonderful, sweetheart."

"So do you," she laughed, wrapping her arms around him again. "It's so good to be home, even if it's only for a few days this time."

"Hey, a few days is better than nothing, that's for sure." He pointed towards the bus. "Let's get your suitcase and get outa here."

Slipping her backpack over her shoulder, she wrapped her hands around his arm as they moved closer to the side of the bus, waiting for the driver to take all the baggage out. She looked up into his face, grinning. "So, Mike, who is this Mel you told me about?"


	11. Chapter 11

"So you guys have three ongoing cases and no confirmed suspects?" Jeannie asked, incredulity in her voice as she set the platter of raw hamburgers and sausages on the end of the picnic table closest to the barbeque.

Mike, a toque blanche on his head, an apron around his neck and a pair of tongs in his right hand, turned from his fussy ministrations of the still heating charcoal briquettes to toss a glare in his daughter's direction.

Steve, who was sitting with Mel at the far end of the picnic table, glanced from father to daughter and tried to suppress his laugh by quickly picking up his beer and taking a sip.

"Jeez," Jeannie continued, looking down at the table as she rearranged the cutlery and napkins unnecessarily, "I would've thought you guys would be better at that kinda thing by now…"

Mel, her hand around the glass of chardonnay on the table, was staring at the scene playing out before her with a furrowed brow. She kept staring at Mike, seemingly concerned that, despite his deadly still posture at the moment, he was going to blow a gasket at any moment. She glanced at Steve, who seemed to be having a hard time containing his amusement.

Feeling compelled to diffuse the situation, she smiled and nodded towards the older man. "So how's the hand feeling, Mike?" she piped up, surprised when Steve's head, his eyes wide, snapped towards her.

Mike, his eyes briefly leaving the back of his daughter's head to meet hers coldly, growled, "Don't change the subject." Mel froze.

Jeannie, still facing the picnic table, was grinning smugly to herself, seemingly oblivious to her father, who was slowly creeping up behind her, expressionless.

Mel couldn't move, her heart in her throat.

Then, so quickly almost no one could see it, Mike slapped Jeannie's bum with his free hand. She squealed and jumped, turning to him with a giggle to wrap her arms around him as he started to laugh, his face lighting up.

Mel, after a small startled squeal of her own, turned to Steve sheepishly, wrapping her hands around his upper arm and squeezing as he stared at her with an affectionate smile.

"You think you're really funny, don't ya?" Mike chuckled, looking down warmly at his daughter, the love so evident in his eyes.

She grinned up at him. "Yes, I do," she confirmed with a nod, "and I know just which of your buttons to push too." She gently shoved him away. "Back to work, mister, you have burgers to cook, remember?"

"Aye, aye, captain," he snapped, saluting with the tongs as he turned back to the grill, laughing.

Mel looked at Steve. "You guys really have three open cases?" When he nodded with raised eyebrows, she continued, looking towards Mike, who was facing the barbeque. "That's a lot, isn't it?"

"Well," Steve began with a glance at his partner, "for us it is. We're usually pretty good at closing our cases fairly quickly, but this time…" He shrugged.

Her hands still wrapped around his arm, she pulled him closer. "Well, I have a feeling that after this weekend you guys are gonna solve all of them, in record time. You just need a break and a fresh start."

Mike had turned from the barbeque and was staring at her with a bemused smile. He looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows. "I like the way she thinks," he chuckled before picking up the platter and starting to place the burgers and sausages on the hot grill.

"So do I," Steve smiled.

Jeannie, who was waiting to take the empty platter from her father, asked over her shoulder. "So, Mel, how long have you been a chef?"

"Well, sous-chef, actually," she corrected gently, reaching for her glass of wine but keeping her left hand around Steve's arm.

Mike's head swiveled towards her. "Okay, so what _is _the difference between a chef and a sous-chef? I've always wondered that."

Mel chuckled. "Well, you know what a chef is, right? A sous-chef is like, oh, the second-in-command, like if you were the chef, Mike, Steve would be your sous-chef."

The older man looked at the younger and laughed softly; Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head. Jeannie giggled.

"So, that means the chef does all the work and the sous-chef gets half the credit, is that what I'm hearing?" Mike asked facetiously, feigning innocence.

"Hey!" Steve protested feebly and everybody laughed.

"Well," Mel chuckled, "not quite, and actually a lot of the time it's the other way around."

Steve made a face at his partner. "Ah ha, see?" Everybody laughed.

"But the sous-chef is more hands-on in terms of food preparation than the chef," Mel continued, "at least at our restaurant… and we have three so we share a lot of the responsibility in running the kitchen when the chef isn't there."

"But it's a good entryway to become a full-blown chef, isn't it?" Jeannie asked as she poured more wine into her glass and offered Mel a fill-up. The long-haired blonde nodded and held her glass out.

"It sure is, if you can stand the long hours and the pressure. Some chefs are easier to get along with than others. We're –"

"I hear ya," Steve interjected, looking down at the table and trying not to smile when Mike spun towards him. He could feel the blue eyes burning a hole in the top of his head then heard the self-conscious chuckle from the older man as he turned back to the grill. He tried not to laugh.

Mel tightened her grip on his arm quickly and sharply, as if in a playful reprimand, then looked back at Jeannie, who was grinning. "As I was saying, we're lucky. Tony is a not only a great chef but a terrific mentor. A lot of his sous-chefs have gone on to open their own places, mostly up in wine country."

"Are you hoping to do that someday?" Jeannie asked as she leaned back and handed her dad his beer.

Mel glanced at Steve and smiled. "Yeah," she nodded softly, "yeah, I am, but it won't be for awhile yet, I think. I still have a lot to learn."

Jeannie tossed her head back slightly and snorted. "Yeah, I know what that's like. This placement I'm going to is a dream come true but I'm starting to get a lot of butterflies. What if I'm not up to the challenge…?"

Mike spun away from the grill, fixing his daughter with a scowl. "What are you talking about? You're more than qualified, sweetheart, you've been working really hard and your grades have been excellent." He looked at Mel. "She's always been top of her class since she started high school." The fierce pride in his voice was unmistakable.

"Oh, Mike," Jeannie sighed, getting up to slip an arm around her father's waist, "I know I'll always have you on my side, but I have to be practical." She looked at Mel understandingly. "I guess we both just have to keep plugging away and doing our best, right?"

Smiling empathetically, Mel raised her glass in a silent toast.

Jeannie looked at Steve. "You want another beer?"

Almost out of habit, he glanced at Mike before looking at his glass. "Sure, sure, I'm not driving for another few hours."

"Great. And I'll start bringing out the rest of the food." Jeannie headed towards the back door.

"I'll give you a hand." With a squeeze of Steve's arm, Mel got up and followed her into the kitchen.

Watching them go, Steve stood and crossed to his partner who was carefully turning the burgers and sausages. "Well, they seem to be hitting it off."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, I think they might have more in common than we thought." He turned away from the grill. "So, you guys all ready to hit the road?"

"Yeah, we're gonna head out first thing in the morning. Hopefully we can get out of town before the heat comes back."

"Yeah," Mike concurred with a shudder. "Not looking forward to that again. At least you're getting away from it for a couple of days."

"I know," Steve chuckled, allowing himself to gloat a bit. "Oh, and don't forget the cabin doesn't have a phone and it's about 10 miles to the nearest one, so if you need to get in touch with me in a hurry, you're shit outa luck, I'm afraid," Steve laughed.

"I know, I know. Don't think I don't know you did that on purpose."

"What? Me?" Steve put a hand on his chest and shook his head as if stung.

Laughing, Mike nodded. "Don't worry, I have no intention of stepping foot in the office until 'Monday morning. I'm spending as much time with Jeannie this weekend as I can."

The flash of melancholy that washed over the older man's face was hard to miss.

# # # # #

Mike started to pick up the dirty dishes from the table to scrape the detritus into the garbage before putting them on the counter. Jeannie had cleaned out the sink, put the plug in and had started to fill it with steaming hot water. She opened the cupboard under the sink and shot a stream of liquid detergent under the running tap.

"So, ah," Mike began almost tentatively, shooting a furtive glance at his preoccupied daughter, "so what do you think of Mel?"

Setting the dish tray on the counter, Jeannie tossed a curious look in her father's direction and snorted. "What do you mean 'what do I think of Mel'? I think she's great. Why? Do you have a problem with her?"

"Me? No!" he answered a little more forcefully than she'd anticipated, as he stood over the garbage can, continuing to clean the plates. "No, I think she's great too. He's getting serious about her, you know."

"Yeah, I could tell. He looks at her differently than he's looked at his other… girlfriends," she said enigmatically, smiling to herself.

Mike stopped scraping and looked up. "He does?"

She nodded.

"Hunh!" he shrugged and went back to work.

Jeannie turned off the tap and carefully lowered a stack of dirty dishes into the water. "She does seem to touch him an awful lot though, doesn't she?"

Mike tilted his head with a facial shrug. "Well, she's just tactile, I guess."

Jeannie glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "No, Mike, you're tactile, she's…. I don't know, she's… clingy…"

"Clingy?"

"Yeah."

He stepped to the counter to deposit a handful of dirty cutlery. "So there's a problem with being clingy?"

Jeannie shrugged as she ran the dishcloth over one of the plates. "Well, no, not really. But it could be a sign of something to come…"

Mike looked at her with a scowl. "What do you mean by that?"

She stopped and turned to him, unsure of how to proceed. She knew she needed to choose her next words carefully. "Well, I don't have all that much worldly experience but… well, amongst my friends, and people I've known about… when one half of a couple is clingy, the other half usually gets uncomfortable with it after a while… and they break up…"

Mike stared at her for a long beat. "You think that's going to happen to Steve and Mel?"

She shook her head sadly. "I don't know, Mike. I don't know her that well yet… But I do know Steve, just like you do…"

Mike sighed heavily. "Yeah…. Yeah, I do…" He turned back to the table and she returned to the sink.


	12. Chapter 12

"I have no idea what time it is, and I don't care," Mel murmured as she raised her head slightly, reached for the rapidly warming bottle of Coke that was half buried in the sand and took a sip.

"Hmmm, what?" Steve murmured from underneath her, his head resting against a wadded up beach towel and her head on his stomach.

They were lying on their backs on a blanket on the small beach, he in cut-off jeans and she in a small yellow bikini. Both of them were sporting thick sunglasses and a thin layer of suntan oil.

"You know we're gonna have to go into town sometime and get some more ice," she said lazily, taking another sip before putting the bottle back down in the sand.

"I know," he said quietly, "but not till later, okay? It's our last day and I really don't want to go anywhere right now."

The weather had been perfect and they had been able to spend the weekend totally alone. They had swum naked and canoed along the shore for several miles. They had lain in the sun and even done a little hiking inland. Mel had brought some fresh herbs and spices with her, and Steve had managed to catch a couple of fish, which she cooked over an open fire.

And they had talked, about their pasts and their hopes for the future, together and apart. A comfortable familiarity had settled over them both. And for the first time in his life, Steve felt the beginnings of a calm and clear inevitability. He had almost convinced himself that sometime in the next few weeks, he would bite the bullet and ask her to marry him.

But until then, he thought, they had to make it through this weekend. It was their first time away alone together and it was going splendidly, he thought, chuckling to himself.

"What's so funny?" she asked and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Nothing, nothing," he said quickly, "just thinking of Mike stuck in The City with that heat wave coming back. He's gonna be like a prickly pear tomorrow morning."

# # # # #

"How in the world can you stand it in that kitchen all day in this heat?" Mike asked from the doorway, comically fanning himself with a Time magazine.

Jeannie turned to him from the counter. "Because I'm going to be going to a city that has the common sense to have air conditioning," she stated pointedly, "and I want my father to have some decent meals to eat while I'm gone."

She had been spending the better part of the day roasting a chicken and cooking a pot roast, with the intention of putting together a number of frozen dinners that he could thaw while she was gone.

"But it's your last day, sweetheart. I want to do something special."

She looked at him with a warm and understanding smile. "I know, and we will, I promise. I'm almost finished here. Another hour, okay?"

With a playful growl, he finally nodded. "All right, one more hour. And then we're getting out of here, okay?"

"Okay." As he stepped away from the door, she called out, "So where are you taking me to dinner tonight?"

He stopped quickly and looked back. "How do you know I'm taking you somewhere?"

"Because I know you," she said pedantically then waited for him to answer.

He inhaled deeply, knowing he was outmatched. "Well, if you must know, I made reservations for the Top of the Mark."

"Top of the Mark?! Are you kidding?!" Her voice was rapidly rising to panic level and he took a step backwards in surprise.

"Well, yeah, I mean, no, I'm not kidding –"

"Mike, you can't just spring the Top of the Mark on me! I have to shower and do my hair and find something to wear!" She turned back to the stove, suddenly moving in double time. "Honestly," she continued, muttering to herself, "men!"

He had retreated into the living room, completely dumbfounded as to what he had just done that was so wrong. He honestly thought it was a very special evening he had planned but now he was having second thoughts. Frowning, he slowly crossed to the armchair and sat heavily.

Suddenly Jeannie stuck her head out of the kitchen. "What time is the reservation?"

"Um, ah, seven…?" he answered hesitantly, somehow knowing the shaky ground he had so suddenly found himself on was starting to shift even more. She disappeared again.

'_Men?' _he thought. _'Women!'_

# # # # #

Mel dumped the second bag of ice into the cooler. "There," she grunted, "that should do us for the rest of the day." She stuck her right hand into the freezing cold mixture of ice and water and pulled a Bud from the bottom. She popped the tab then held it out but as he reached for it, she pulled it back.

"Ah, ah, ah," she reprimanded teasingly, "you can have this on one condition."

Steve eyed her warily, a slow smile building. "And what condition would that be, I wonder?"

"Not the one you're thinking of, I can assure you that. That'll come later. It's our last day here and we have to hit the road around dusk, you said, so I want our last meal here to be special. Well, maybe not special, but just as good as those other ones we've had," she laughed.

"So what's this condition you mentioned?" he asked slowly, genuinely confused.

"I need at least one more fish." She pointed behind him and he turned. The fishing rod was leaning against the cabin wall.

He clocked it then turned back to her. "I don't have any bait left." He reached for the beer but she pulled it back again.

"Well, you're a detective, improvise."

"Improvise? What do you mean, improvise? And what does me being a detective have to do with improvisation?"

She shrugged and chuckled. "I'm not sure, I just thought it would stir up all those competitive male hormones of yours."

"Competitive male hormones…?" he echoed with a questioning laugh as he grabbed the beer and turned back towards the cabin. "Do we have anything meaty left?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Hmmm… meaty…?" she thought out loud as she followed him. "Oh! There's that ancient can of cocktail weenies in the pantry!"

# # # # #

"Okay, the place looks pretty good." He was standing in the doorway of the small cabin. "I don't think you could tell we were here." He picked the duffle bag up and started to lug it to the car.

Mel had already stuffed her small bag behind the passenger seat. "Good thing there's only the two of us," she chuckled.

He flipped the front seat forward and tossed the duffle in the back then made a quick return to the cabin to lock the door.

"Don't forget to tell your friend 'thanks' again!" she called as she got into the low-slung car.

"Don't worry, I will!" he yelled back as he snapped the padlock closed and pocketed the key.

With a satisfied sigh, he slid in behind the wheel and slammed the door, smiling over at her as he stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened. He stared at the steering column, frowning. He brought the key back to neutral then tried again. Still nothing. There wasn't even the familiar but unwelcome click of a dead battery.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath as he got out and opened the trunk. In the dim light of dusk, he checked everything he could think of: the battery connections, all the wires that he could see, even the fan belt. He knew the battery wasn't dead; he had made the trip into the nearby town only a few hours ago and the car had behaved perfectly.

"Mel, get behind the wheel," he yelled and she slid over the gearshift into the driver's seat. "When I tell you, try to start it."

"Okay!"

There was a couple of seconds of silence then he shouted, "Now!"

She turned the key. Again nothing happened. He stepped away from the car so she could see him in the side mirror and shrugged in confusion then moved closer to the driver's side door. "I can't see anything wrong. I don't know…" He almost growled in anger.

"Do you think it's flooded…?" she asked tentatively as if it was a term she had heard before but wasn't sure exactly what it meant.

"Of course not –!" he began sharply in frustration then stopped himself. He knew she was just trying to help. "No, honey, Porsches don't flood. It's gotta be something else."

He was getting antsier by the second. He stuck his head under the trunk again for a few more minutes, then stood back, released the prop and let the trunk slam closed.

She hadn't moved and he realized she was unsure of what was going on, and wary of his reaction to it. He stepped closer to the window.

"What are we going to do?" she asked softly and he was struck by her use of the word 'we'.

Despite everything, he smiled. He opened the door and held his hand out for her to take as she stepped as elegantly as she could out of his pride and joy. He sighed, looking straight into her eyes. "Well, there's nothing we can do, at least not right now." He looked around. "I can't walk into town, not at this time of night. And besides, no garage is gonna be open now anyway."

He looked back at the cabin. "We're gonna have to spend the night here and I'll walk into town first thing in the morning and find someone with a tow-truck to come back here with me and tow it into town. And then I've gotta find someone who knows how to fix a Porsche."

He looked down and closed his eyes, exhaling loudly. "Mike is gonna kill me."

# # # # #

"Champagne? Mike, are you serious? You can't afford this," Jeannie whispered across the small elegantly set table.

Mike watched as the sommelier disappeared before turning his beaming face towards her. "Of course I can, sweetheart. After all, it's not every day I get to take my little girl to the Top of the Mark to celebrate. And that's what we're doing tonight – we're celebrating!"

He reached across the table and took her hand, in much the same way he used to do with her mother. "Besides," he said, lowering his own voice to a whisper, "I've been saving up."

She giggled, staring into his eyes, and squeezed his hand. She knew she was lucky; she knew she couldn't have asked for a better father. He had really become everything to her and for her since her mother had passed and she had wanted for nothing, especially love. And she was as proud of him as she knew he was proud of her.

They had spent a wonderful weekend together, marred only by the fact that their beloved Giants were on a road trip. But, with popcorn and beer – or, in her case, wine – they had managed to catch all three of the televised games against San Diego. He had warned her she'd better not change allegiances over the summer, and she hastily reassured him that the Padres were just not in the same league, figuratively speaking, as San Francisco's home team.

Throw in an early morning jog on Baker Beach, a long stroll around Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park, fresh Dungeness crabs on the wharf and a couple of good home-cooked meals, and it had become a long weekend made in heaven for them both, despite the steadily increasing temperature.

Everyone in the city, it seemed, knew that Monday morning was going to dawn stiflingly hot and humid once more, and nobody was happy about it.

But the father and daughter enjoying the sumptuous meal atop one of the city's premiere hotels didn't seem to mind a bit. That was for tomorrow; tonight was for them.

Mike picked up his champagne flute and held it out. "To my beautiful daughter," he said softly, tears starting to moisten his eyes, "you are my pride and my joy… and my life."

Beaming, her own eyes brimming, she clinked her glass against his. "I love you, Daddy…" she whispered.

His smile wavered slightly and he swallowed heavily then raised his glass once more. "To the best damn urban architect this country will ever see!" he said loudly, then touched her glass again and took a sip.

Their laughter made everyone's head turn in their direction.


	13. Chapter 13

"Eat up, eat up, eat up," he urged, slipping two more silver dollar pancakes onto her plate. "I don't want to be late getting you to the bus this time."

Eyes wide, she looked up at him. "Mike, enough already. I can't eat anymore." She waved vaguely at the plate with her fork.

"Don't forget," he admonished, turning to the stove to put the frying pan down, "you're not going to be enjoying these all summer. You gotta get 'em while you can, you know."

"I got 'em, believe me, I got 'em," she chuckled , putting down her fork and patting her stomach. "I'm done… finis!" She pushed the plate away then glanced up at him. "Just so you know, I'm all packed and ready to go." She looked him up and down. "You're not."

He stopped and looked down at himself. He was wearing his suit pants and a blue-and-white striped shirt. "What? I'm ready."

She cocked her head and stared at him.

He pointed toward the living room. "My jacket, tie and hat are on the couch. I'm ready to go."

"Where's your vest?" she asked smugly, sure she'd caught him out.

He tilted his head and smirked. "I've, ah, I've loosened my dress code during these heat waves… the vests stay in my drawer. They're just too damn hot."

"Oh, ho, the Lieutenant is human after all," she chortled, wagging a forefinger at him as she got to her feet. "I knew it. Iron Mike is starting to rust!"

He froze momentarily then set his teeth. She could hear him start to growl as he advanced on her, raising his own forefinger. "Rust? I'll give you rust, young lady…"

With a squeal, she deked under his arm and out the kitchen door. "Gotta get my suitcase," she yelled over her shoulder as she bolted up the stairs, laughing.

# # # # #

Panting slightly, Steve almost stumbled through the open door of the only garage in the small town of Sterling. He remembered driving past it a number of times when he'd gone into town to get groceries and had even gotten gas here once years ago. But he couldn't remember if they had a tow truck. He couldn't see one now and his heart sank.

There was a stocky older man with wild grey hair under a John Deere ball cap sitting behind a messy old wooden desk in the small office off the lone service bay. "What can I do fer ya?" he said almost pleasantly as Steve glanced around.

"You don't happen to have a tow truck, do you?" he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

The proprietor stared at him for a couple of beats. "No, no I don't…"

Steve's stomach started to sink.

"…but I know someone that does. What's the problem?"

Vainly trying to reign in his enthusiasm, Steve stammered, "Ah, my car… we're staying at a cabin about ten miles north of here and my car won't start. I've got to get back to San Francisco as soon as possible and –"

"Say no more," the other man cut him off, leaning forward and picking up the black phone that was sitting on his desk. He looked up. "I'm Pete," he said pleasantly as he dialed.

"Steve."

"Good to meet you, Steve… Bobby," he said quickly into the receiver. "Bobby, I've got a fella here needs a tow… Yeah… Yeah, okay, thanks." He hung up. "He'll be here in a coupla minutes. Lives just down the road here."

"Thank you," Steve sighed in relief. He had no idea how much all this was going to end up costing him, but right now he didn't care. He had to get back to The City as soon as humanly possible.

"So what kinda car you got there, Steve?" Pete asked amiably, taking stock of the disheveled young man as if trying to discern his ability to pay for any services rendered.

"Ah," he started slowly, almost reluctantly, "ah, a Porsche, actually."

Pete's eyebrows climbed into his hairline.

# # # # #

"See, we made it in plenty of time. They haven't even opened the door yet." Jeannie pointed through the windshield at the bus and the long line of people waiting to board. "I've already got my ticket so there was really was no need to hurry. I'm surprised you didn't put the siren on."

Mike glared across the front seat under knit brows. "Ha ha ha. I wanted to get here fast so we could spend a little more time together."

She softened and looked at him with an almost sad smile. "I know… But six weeks'll go by fast, you know that, and then I'll be home again for a few more before I have to go back to Arizona. And we'll definitely catch some ballgames together then, right, if the Giants are in town?"

"They are," he grinned, "I already checked."

"Of course you did," she laughed affectionately.

His smile disappeared. "You do good there, you hear."

"I will," she promised softly. "I'll make you proud."

He swallowed heavily. "You make me proud every day, sweetheart."

Catching movement from the corner of her eye, she glanced through the windshield. The bus door was open and people were starting to board. She looked at her father again and bit her lip, then launched herself across the seat, throwing her arms around him awkwardly and burying her head against his chest. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

They held each other for several long seconds then she pulled back, turned and scrambled out of the car, knowing if she didn't leave now she might have second thoughts. Hoisting her backpack over her shoulder, she opened the back door and dragged her suitcase out. As she crossed the small parking lot to the bus, she looked back and grinned.

Fighting back tears, he smiled as best he could and waved. He was still sitting in the car when the bus pulled away from the station and disappeared into traffic.

# # # # #

Mike strode briskly across the bullpen and into his office. He glanced at his partner's empty desk, surprised not to see him already there. Frowning, he was just about to toss the fedora on the coat rack when a large note on his desk caught his attention.

He picked it up and read it quickly then, stuffing the paper into his jacket pocket, retraced his steps across the bullpen and out the door.

# # # # #

Steve, Pete and Bobby were standing side by side behind the Porsche, staring at the engine. It had taken almost an hour and a half to drive back to the cabin, load the Porsche with their stuff again, winch it to the truck and return to Pete's garage.

Knowing it was going to take some time to figure out what was wrong with the car, Mel had decided to walk to the small grocery store to get them something to eat.

"Well, it's not too much different from most engines," Pete said hopefully. "Listen, ah, give me some time to have a look at it and I'll tell you what I find lickety-split. How does that sound?"

Knowing he didn't have much of a choice, Steve nodded. "Sure. Hey, ah, listen, I've got a make a long distance call to San Francisco. Can I use your phone? I can leave you some money…"

"Sure, sure, go right ahead," Pete nodded, his focus still on the exotic engine in front of him.

His first call, to Mike's office phone, went unanswered. In frustration, knowing Mike wouldn't still be at home and was probably dropping Jeannie off at the bus station, he called his own office phone, hoping that someone would pick it up.

After the sixth ring, the line engaged. "Homicide, Inspector Keller's desk."

"Lee, is that you?"

"Yeah. Steve?"

"Yeah. Hey, listen, Mike's not there, is he?"

"Naw, he came in about fifteen minutes ago, grabbed a note that was on his desk and high-tailed it out of here. I have no idea where he went. Where are you?"

"Yeah, that's the thing… I'm still up in Tahoe. My car won't start. I've just had it towed to a garage and they're trying to figure out what's wrong. I hope it won't take too long but I have no idea right now when I'm gonna get back to The City. Will you tell Mike for me and tell him I'm really sorry but it's out of my hands right now."

"Okay, I will…" Lessing sounded almost reluctant to be the bearer of bad news, especially to his boss.

"Listen, ah, tell Mike that if they can't figure out what's wrong with my car, I'll try to rent one and get home as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay, Steve."

"Thanks, Lee." He hung up and looked at the phone, mad at himself for allowing this to happen, even though he knew it wasn't anybody's fault. At least Mel was going to be okay, he thought – her next shift was tonight and, one way or the other, he was going to get them home by then.

"Hey, Steve!" he heard Pete yell.

He almost ran out the door and back to the car. "You figured it out?" he asked anxiously.

Peter had something in his hand and he held it up. "You've got a cracked distributor cap. That'll do it, you know. A car won't start with a cracked cap and I bet you couldn't see it in the dark."

"A cracked…?" Steve said softly. "But I just had the car serviced… they should've caught that, shouldn't they?"

Bobby raised his eyebrows, nodding. "Maybe you need to get yourself a new mechanic…"

"Maybe…" He shook his head slightly, getting back to the problem at hand. "So, ah, can you get another one?"

"Well, a normal cap won't fit a Porsche, of course…" Pete said with a sympathetic shrug.

"Of course…" Steve acknowledged with a frustrated sigh.

"But I do know a guy about five miles from here, has a wrecking yard. I bet he has one of these babies lying around. I'll give him a call. We'll have you on the road in no time."

"Thank you," Steve exhaled loudly, laughing with relief. "That is the best news I've had… since yesterday…"

# # # # #

Mike took the note out of his pocket and looked at it again. He had managed to find a spot to park on Grant; albeit it was in front of a fire hydrant, but he was in a hurry. An anonymous source, it seems, had called in over the weekend with information on the whereabouts of the last transvestite on their list. She was staying in a small apartment in Chinatown over a souvenir shop.

He wished Steve was with him but he also knew he had to move fast. Who knew how long she would be there and if she got wind the cops had found her, she could disappear again, maybe even leave town.

_Where was Steve anyway?,_ he wondered as he got out of the car, his hand automatically going to the .38 on his right hip. He hoped the young man wasn't in any trouble.

Keeping his eyes on the building in question, Mike waited for the traffic to slow before he jogged across the narrow street. He was approaching the green-painted door sandwiched between two restaurants when he heard what he knew to be a gunshot followed by a scream and a bellow. He turned quickly; several people were scrambling to get through the narrow door of a Chinese grocery across the street.

He heard a male voice yell something and he knew enough Mandarin to identify the word 'gun'. He charged across the street, pulling one of the fleeing men to a stop. "Where?"

"He went out the back door," the man answered breathlessly, twisting out of Mike's grip and running down the street.

Every sense on full alert, Mike moved carefully into the grocery, his revolver out in front of him. His eyes swept the small store quickly, seeing nothing but knowing he had to check the aisles individually, few though they were. The place was empty.

A doorway covered with red and gold beads led into the back room and he stepped through it quickly. It was a small storage area filled with cardboard boxes and he could tell at a glance it was empty as well. There was a metal door with a panic bar in the far wall. He opened it slowly and stepped out into the dark alley. Even though the sun was bright and high, the alley, enclosed on three sides by tall red brick buildings, was eerily dark; thin, intermittent shafts of bright sunlight carved distinct patterns in the gloom. A white van was parked near the street, making the alley seem even more claustrophobic.

Trying to see through the nearest beam of blinding sunlight into the inky blackness behind it, Mike took a tentative step further into the alley. He worked his way slowly towards the street, looking in and under the van, but there was nothing. Satisfied the shooter was indeed gone, he turned and started back up the alley towards the store.

He had just reached the last shaft of bright light and was putting his revolver in its holster when a dark figure suddenly appeared in the open back door of the grocery. He heard the blood-curdling cry "Gun!" before the deafening report of a .38 filled the small alley and echoed off the walls.


	14. Chapter 14

Steve watched as a battered old pickup bumped into the dusty parking area in front of the garage. A young, dark-haired boy of about 18 got out of the truck as Pete approached. He smiled as he held out his right hand and gave the mechanic what Steve could only hope was the distributor cap for his Porsche.

Pete examined the item in his hand then turned to Steve and Mel with a grin. "Let's see if she fits."

The small entourage made its way over to the sports car whose trunk was still open. Removing the thick, oil-stained towel he had placed over the open distributor to keep the dirt and sand out, Pete threaded the new cap on without a hitch. "Ta-da!" he crowed with a flourish and stood back. "Thank you, Jimmy. Tell you father it was a perfect fit."

"I will, sir," the boy beamed.

Pete looked at Steve. "Well don't just stand there. Get in her and start her up!" he laughed.

With a hopeful smile, Steve slipped behind the wheel, closing his eyes in silent prayer as he put the key in the ignition and turned it. The powerful engine roared to life. Exhaling loudly with relief, he laid his head against the steering wheel and chuckled happily then turned the car off and got out.

"Thank you," he said to the four people staring at him with varyingly wide smiles.

Taking a step closer, Pete turned his grin from the boy to Steve and raised his eyebrows. The city cop stared back; neither of them spoke. Pete nodded towards Jimmy and raised his eyebrows even higher. Steve frowned. He felt Mel's hand tighten around his arm and he looked down at her. She leaned as close to him as she could and whispered, "I think he wants you to pay Jimmy directly."

"Oh!" Steve started, turning quickly to the boy who was staring at him with a patient smile. "Oh, right, sorry, uh, how much do I owe you?" He had already paid Bobby $20 for the tow and he knew he would owe Pete at least that much for the time, attention and expertise.

"That'll be forty dollars, sir," the boy said without batting an eye.

Mel could feel Steve stiffen in shock under her touch but his face betrayed nothing. He swallowed. "Forty?" he echoed, his tone slightly strained.

Grinning amiably, Jimmy bobbed his head.

Reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, Steve started to nod. "That, ah, that seems reasonable," he managed to get out as he opened his billfold, hoping to find more money in it than he knew would be there. He had twenty-eight dollars. "Ah, do you take credit?" he asked feebly and Jimmy shook his head, still smiling. He sighed with a slight chuckle, realizing he was in big trouble.

Mel took her hand off his arm. "Just a sec," she said, taking the large white purse off her shoulder. "I've got some cash." She turned her back on the men and hunched over slightly, holding the bag up with one hand and rooting through it with the other. Several seconds later she turned around with two twenty-dollar bills in her hand and held them out towards Jimmy.

Wide-eyed, he took them almost gently. "Thank you, ma'am," he said politely with a nod. Then with a quick look at Pete and another nod, turned swiftly and headed for his truck.

"Well, sir," Pete said, turning back to Steve, "you and I can settle up now and you two'll be on your way."

"Ah, thanks," Steve muttered, clearing his throat and glancing at Mel before following Pete towards the garage. Bobby, who had watched the entire scene with a grin, closed the trunk on the Porsche then wandered over to his tow truck.

Mel grabbed Steve's elbow and pulled him to a stop just before he stepped into the garage. He turned to her with knit brows. She held out her right hand; there were two more twenty-dollar bills in it. "Just in case…" she whispered with a smile.

With a look of unbridled appreciation, Steve took the proffered money. "Thank you," he whispered then leaned forward to give her a quick kiss. With a wink, she turned and headed back to the car.

Less than two minutes later the driver's side door opened and Steve slid behind the wheel. "I am glad that's over with," he muttered, tossing a small plastic bag behind the front seat before putting the key in the ignition.

"How much did it cost you?" she asked tentatively.

He looked at her and shook his head, chuckling. "Let's just say we're finally on our way home."

She smiled when he turned the key and the engine started smoothly once again. He grinned, closing his eyes briefly as he reached out and patted the top of the dashboard almost affectionately. He turned to her and winked then shifted into Drive and cranked the wheel, the gold sports car turning on a dime before the tires found the two-lane blacktop and headed south towards home.

Steve looked across the front seat and smiled. "Don't worry, I'll pay you back."

She smiled back at him, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "I'm not worried."

# # # # #

She looked out the window, watching the small homes, businesses and highway signs of San Jose speeding by. _'I really should check that place out sometime,'_ she thought idly as another Winchester Mystery House billboard caught her attention then laughed softly to herself. _'Good lord, I've really got architecture on the brain.'_

She reached down and pulled her backpack out from under the seat in front of her. Putting it on her lap, she opened the top and reached in for the large thick paperback book buried on the bottom. Her hand touched what felt like a small cardboard box. Frowning, she pulled it out. It was indeed a small box, gold in colour, festooned with a gold bow. On the lower right corner was the logo _Ghirardelli._

She bit her lower lip, feeling the sudden sting of tears filling her eyes. She sighed heavily. "Oh, Mike…" she whispered under her breath, turning to look out the window, smiling to herself.

She put the box back in the bag and found the book. Unable to stop smiling, she put the backpack under the seat again, leaned back and opened the book.

A chill of excitement raced down her spine. The next six weeks could be a turning point in her life, she knew, and she wanted the opportunity to be an unqualified success, for herself and for everyone that had faith in her. But most of all for her father.

She found the piece of paper she was using as a bookmark and opened _'The Death and Life of Great American Cities'._ She hoped to be finished well before the bus pulled into San Diego, another ten hours down the road.

# # # # #

"What the hell happened?!" Sergeant Barry Schiff yelled as he charged into the storage room at the back of the small grocery.

Adams was standing in the open doorway, facing the alley, unmoving. "I got him, Sarge…" the young man was murmuring almost breathlessly, "I got him…"

Schiff stepped into the doorway beside the young trainee, his eyes falling on the white-knuckled hands gripping the .38, still pointed down the alley. He could smell gunpowder.

"I got him…" Adams mumbled again, his face slack and his gaze unfocused.

Suddenly furious, a knot quickly growing in the pit of his stomach, Schiff yanked the gun from the younger man's hands then looked into the alley. On the ground, at the far edge of the blinding shaft of sunlight several yards from the door, he could see a pair of shoes, toes up. Black Oxfords. Criminals didn't wear Oxfords, he knew, but cops did.

"Oh, god, no," escaped his lips as he stepped through the doorway. "Stay here!" he growled angrily as he sprinted down the alley, sliding to a stop and dropping to his knees.

Mike Stone lay on his back, his left arm outstretched, his right, the gun still in his hand, near his side. His mouth and eyes were slightly open. An ever-widening circle of blood, bright red against the blue-and-white of his shirt, was pulsing from a hole in his lower chest just to the right of his heart.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Schiff could hear himself repeating under his breath as he tossed Adams' gun aside and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. "Somebody call an ambulance!" he yelled as he pressed the small square of white cloth over the wound. "Officer down! Somebody call an ambulance!"

Behind him he could hear the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps; someone knelt beside him. "An ambulance is on the way!" an urgent voice assured him. He heard the sudden intake of breath as the newcomer recognized the wounded lieutenant. "How bad…?"

Schiff shook his head. "I don't know…" He took a deep, unsteady breath, glancing at the man beside him, recognizing his fellow training sergeant Clark Bradley. "Bad…" he said softly.

More cops had begun to stream into the alley. Bradley got to his feet and moved away. Schiff could hear him shouting. "Somebody find out who owns this van! It's gotta move! We need to get the ambulance in here!"

Schiff felt more than saw two more cops kneel beside him. A clean handkerchief suddenly appeared in front of him and he released the pressure on the lieutenant's chest enough to grab it and place it over the first one, now thoroughly saturated with blood. He leaned over the wounded detective. "Hang in there, Mike, there's an ambulance coming."

The lieutenant's eyes had closed. He showed no sign of consciousness but beneath the pressure of his hands Schiff could feel him breathe.

There was pounding on every door along the alley, shouts of "Who owns the van?!" Another voice yelled, "If nobody moves this damn van in the next few seconds, we'll break the windows and push the damn thing out!"

Suddenly a young Chinese man, fumbling with a large set of keys, ran into the alley from the street and up to the driver's side of the van. Finding the right key, he opened the door and got in behind the wheel and within seconds the alley was cleared. Several cops had stepped out into the street to stop traffic as the wail of the approaching siren could be heard.

Schiff looked up as the ambulance squealed to a stop in the street then began to back into the alley. "Clark!" he yelled and Bradley appeared instantly at his side. He looked pointedly at Adams then to his right. "His gun's over there."

Clark followed the look and spotted the Police Special lying in the dirt a few feet away. "I've got it."

"I'm going in the ambulance with Mike. You take that little –" Schiff gestured with his chin towards the back door of the grocery again, where Adams was still standing, staring vacantly at the ground in front him. "Take that little bastard downtown and keep him there until I can deal with him. No one's to talk to him until I get there – and I don't care how long that takes, do you hear me?"

Bradley nodded sharply. "Yeah," he said curtly as he got to his feet and started towards the gun.

Schiff heard the wheels of the gurney hitting the ground nearby and suddenly he was surrounded by cops. An ambulance attendant knelt beside him. He leaned back slightly. "He took a round to the chest."

The attendant nodded. From the location of the cop's hands he could tell this was a very serious wound. There were four vital areas that could be involved he knew: lung, liver, spine and heart. But there was no sign of blood in the victim's mouth, which there would be with a lung injury. "Keep the pressure on," he instructed Schiff as he nodded to his partner. They rolled the injured man slightly onto his left side, then the first attendant slid his hand under the lieutenant's right shoulder and ran it down his back. There was no blood on his hand when he removed it and they lowered him to the ground again. "The bullet's still in him." There was no mistaking the grim reality in his tone.

He looked up at the continually expanding group of concerned colleagues standing around them. "Let's get him on the gurney." Four of the bigger officers spaced themselves out around their wounded comrade and crouched. One of them carefully slipped the .38 from the lieutenant's unresisting hand and passed it to a sergeant standing behind him. Then all eyes turned to the attendant. "On three," he instructed. "One…two… three."

Moving as one, they lifted the unconscious detective and placed him gently on the gurney which, with Schiff alongside keeping pressure on the wound, was slid quickly and easily into the back of the ambulance.

As the large doors closed, Schiff looked up to see Bradley grab Adams' arm and roughly pull him backwards into the store. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. And he knew the worst day in a lot of lives was only just beginning.


	15. Chapter 15

The scenery was flying by at an alarming rate. Mel leaned slightly to her left, trying surreptitiously to see the needle on the speedometer. It was very close to 85 and as she resumed her normal position in the passenger seat she saw him glance over at her. She knew she had been caught.

"What?" he asked.

"Steve, we're not going to get there any faster if you get stopped for speeding...,"" she reasoned without trying to sound like his driving was scaring her.

She watched as his hands tightened on the steering wheel and he stared through the windshield without reacting for a couple of long seconds. Then she felt the car slow slightly and he nodded with a soft sigh. "You're right…"

She touched his arm briefly and smiled her thanks. She knew he was angry about being late and letting his partner down, and she also knew that he and Mike were more than just partners. They were best friends as well.

"We're making good time," she said with an encouraging nod, "and we'll be in Oakland well before rush hour."

His eyes flicked briefly towards her; he knew what she was trying to do. He nodded sharply and smiled.

# # # # #

The ambulance pulled to a quick but smooth stop at the entrance to St. Francis Hospital's Emergency Department. Two ER doctors, who had been waiting on the sidewalk, immediately opened the large back doors and reached for the gurney, sliding it quickly to the ground.

Mike's jacket and shirt had been removed and a pressure dressing now covered the hole in his chest. There was a blood pressure cuff around his upper left arm and a clear mask over his nose and mouth, the small oxygen tank between his legs.

The ambulance attendant jumped down as the gurney hit the pavement and the small entourage moved swiftly through the large glass doors into the tall grey concrete building.

Sergeant Barry Schiff slowly stepped down to the ground, his colleague's jacket, tie and hat in his blood-covered hands. He glanced back at what had once been Mike's blue-and-white striped shirt, now lying in a wet dark red heap on the ambulance floor. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath before following the gurney through the doors.

The fact that the lieutenant's life was no longer in his hands didn't make things any easier.

# # # # #

Traffic was mercifully light for a Monday afternoon and it didn't take long for the gold Porsche to cross Buena Vista Island on the Bay Bridge and head into The City. The San Francisco skyline never failed to mesmerize, and even though Steve's thoughts were miles away at the moment, he allowed himself the luxury of a tiny smile for his adopted hometown.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Mel staring at the sight as well. She wasn't a native either, he knew. Her hometown was Morro Bay, further south.

The Porsche continued on the I-80 towards the 101 west; Mel shared a small house with a sous-chef friend from another restaurant over on Balboa in the Richmond District. And there was no easy way to get there from the Bay Bridge except on the surface streets.

Ironically, they drove past the north side of the Hall of Justice while on the 80. Steve stared at the building as it went by; he knew he would have a lot of explaining, and apologizing, to do to his partner when he finally got there, hopefully within an hour if this sudden good luck continued.

# # # # #

Jeannie lowered the book and stared out the window. The Greyhound bus was on the I-5 going through the lower part of the Los Padres National Forest approaching Castiac. She'd been down to this part of the state a couple of times before with her parents but it was a long time ago. Through the windows of the bus she could feel the rising heat from the blazing overhead sun.

She knew they were a little less than two hours away from Los Angeles and what would be the only stop the bus would make for any length of time before heading further south towards San Diego.

She reached down into the backpack that was between her feet and fished the small gold Ghirardelli box out, slipping the bow off and opening it far enough to snag a foil-wrapped piece of one of her favourite San Francisco treats, a milk chocolate caramel square.

With a warm and happy smile, she unwrapped the chocolate and broke it in two, slipping one piece into her mouth and letting it melt slowly on her tongue.

# # # # #

Steve slammed the Porsche to a stop right in front of his apartment. There was no parking on that side of the street but he didn't give a damn at the moment. He tugged the duffle bag out from behind the front seat and slammed the door, not even bothering to lock it before taking the stairs two at a time to his apartment.

He fumbled briefly for the right key, cursing under his breath, then finally got the door open. He tossed the duffle on the floor before starting for the stairs. As he headed up, he glanced over at the answering machine; it was flashing '2'. _They're probably both Mike,_ he thought with a sinking stomach as he charged up the stairs to his bedroom, _wondering where I am…_

He didn't want to take the time for a shower, even though he knew he needed one, so he grabbed a clean shirt, pants, socks, jacket and tie and raced back down the stairs. He would change while listening to the messages, he conceded, so at least he was prepared for the depth of his partner's wrath when he finally got downtown.

He tossed the clothes on the couch, pulling off his soiled t-shirt as he pressed the Play button on the answering machine. The cassette began to rewind. Both messages were fairly short, it seemed, and within seconds he heard the loud click as it stopped rewinding and started to play.

'_Steve? This is Bob McCarthy… from Berkeley, remember? I got your number from Paul. Anyway, I'm gonna be in 'Frisco next week on business and I was wondering if you wanted to get together for a drink. I'm gonna be staying at the Sheraton on Market. I'll give you a call when I get to town but I just wanted to give you a heads up."_

The machine clicked again, preparing to play the second message. Steve, who had taken his jeans off and pulled on his dress pants, threw a glance at the machine and raised a skeptical eyebrow. He remembered Bob McCarthy, and he had no intention of getting in touch with the Nixon-supporting Republican.

He slipped the clean shirt on, doing up the buttons as the second message began. _'Steve, it's Norm. Where the hell are you? Get your ass over to St. Francis. Mike was shot this morning.'_

His fingers on the bottom button of the dress shirt, Steve froze, staring at the small machine as the message ended and the tape rewound, setting itself up to receive the next unanswered call as if nothing was wrong.

He couldn't move for a couple of seconds, trying to process the words that had just torn his world apart. Then suddenly he was in motion, almost unconsciously grabbing his jacket before stuffing his bare feet into his leather shoes as he picked up the keys and charged out the door, slamming it behind him but not taking the time to lock it.

Within seconds he had pulled the Porsche into a tight U-turn on the narrow street, miraculously missing a car parked legally on the other side, and shot up Union, not even slowing for the stop sign as he crossed Montgomery and continued west.

Traffic had picked up as rush hour was approaching; he had to stop for the red light at Grant. He suddenly wished he was driving the LTD so he could use the lights and siren. He pounded his fist against the steering wheel, trying not to think, trying not to speculate about what had happened, trying not to believe that his partner had been shot while he had been dealing with his car trouble…

The light turned green. The car in front was taking too long to move through the intersection and he laid on the horn then, using a break in the oncoming traffic, whipped the Porsche around the offending car and continued down Union well above the speed limit.

The lights stayed green for him and he only had to wait for three cars to pass before he made the quick, tire-squealing left-hand turn onto Hyde. He could see the tall grey granite St. Francis Hospital looming in the distance.

Two more red lights only added to his frustration. He stared at his white-knuckled hands wrapped around the steering wheel. He lifted them briefly; both were shaking. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, feel his heart hammering in his chest.

The light turned green and the Porsche shot across the intersection at California, then across Pine and alongside the hospital to make the left turn onto Bush and the Emergency Department entrance. There was no visitor parking but he didn't care, angling the small sports car into a spot reserved for ambulances and bolting from the car through the large glass double doors. He didn't even clock the more than half-dozen SFPD black-and-whites that were parked up and down the street nor the small group of officers that had congregated on the sidewalk, smoking.

The large ER waiting room was teaming with colleagues both uniformed and plainclothes as he entered on the run, almost skidding to a stop as his eyes scanned what seemed like a sea of worried faces.

"Steve!" he heard a familiar voice call his name and he looked to his right to see Sergeants Norm Haseejian and Dan Healey and Captain Roy Devitt hurrying towards him.

"How is he?" Steve asked, the fear and urgency in his voice unmistakable.

Devitt had raised his hands, palms out, calmingly. "He's hanging in there, Steve," the grey-haired older man said quickly, "he's hanging in. Relax… take a breath…"

"I don't want to take a breath, Roy," the young inspector spat out, his hooded eyes snapping to Haseejian and Healey, as if daring them to patronize him as well. "I want to know how Mike is –"

"And that's what I'm trying to tell you," Devitt cut him off smoothly and calmly, "if you'll let me."

Steve felt Haseejian's hand on his upper right arm and almost pulled from the grip in anger but he stopped. They weren't the enemy right now, he knew, and they were no doubt just as worried as he was. And they knew more than he did at the moment and he wanted to know what that was.

He took a deep breath, trying to get a handle on his emotions. "Where was he hit?"

The three detectives surrounding him exchanged a quick look. "The chest," Devitt answered quietly and watched as Mike's partner closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and loudly. "They're working on him…" He hoped he sounded more encouraging than he felt.

Haseejian's hand tightened on the younger man's arm. "Come on," he said quietly, "let's have a seat and we'll tell you what we know so far, okay?"

Steve allowed himself to be led to a bank of chairs that suddenly became available as the milling group of concerned colleagues made way for them. With Healey and Haseejian sitting on either side and Devitt standing in front of him, Steve leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head spinning. "What happened?" he asked quietly and heard Devitt take a deep breath.

"From what we can tell," the captain began softly and slowly, "he was following a lead in that trannie case of yours. He was up in Chinatown… on Grant… There was a shooting in a grocery store – it had nothing to do with why he was there… it happened just after he showed up…" Devitt took a breath and glanced at Healey.

"He went after the shooter, into the alley behind the grocery. From what we can tell, Mike didn't find him, he was long gone," the dark-haired Homicide sergeant picked up the narrative. "It, ah, it was dark in the alley… very dark…"

Steve's eyes were boring into his colleague's face. "He was shot in the alley?" he asked quietly and watched as Healey nodded almost reluctantly. His frown getting even deeper, Steve looked at Devitt again. "Then who shot him?"

The captain swallowed heavily; Steve felt Haseejian's hand on his back comfortingly.

"It was friendly fire, Steve," Devitt said gently. "He was shot by one of our own…"


	16. Chapter 16

"What?" Steve's voice was little more than a whisper. His green eyes, dark under the furrowed brow, snapped from Devitt to Healey to Haseejian before settling on the captain again.

Exhaling noisily, Devitt nodded once, sharply. "It was one of ours, Steve. A rookie."

Somewhere deep in his brain, already reeling from the shock and worry, a name surfaced. "Adams…"

Three pairs of surprised and confused eyes briefly found each other. "What did you say…?" Healey asked softly.

Steve looked up, straight into his eyes. "Adams… the rookie, was his name Adams?"

Instantly knowing the younger man had not pulled this name from thin air, Healey glanced up at Devitt before he nodded.

Steve caught his breath and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his palms over his eyes as he tried to get his mounting rage under control. Alarmed, Devitt exchanged a worried look with the two sergeants. "Do you know him, Steve?"

Slowly running his hands down his face, he shook his head. "I don't know him but we met…" he said curtly, the words coming out in a staccato rhythm, his furious eyes finally meeting the captain's. "He almost shot me a few days ago… at The Armory. Mike talked him down…" His eyes slid away and he stared at nothing, his chest starting to heave. "Where is he?" he asked slowly, a frightening edge in his voice.

Devitt glanced at the others. Haseejian wrapped a hand around the young inspector's arm again as Healey got to his feet.

"He's being dealt with," Devitt said forcefully, hoping to diffuse his colleague's growing anger.

"Where is he? I want to see him." The request was calm and measured, which made it all the more chilling.

Increasing the tension of his grip again, Haseejian leaned closer. "He's not here, Steve, he's downtown."

"Then I'm going downtown." Steve started to get up; Haseejian pulled him back onto the chair as Healey stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

"You're not going anywhere, Steve," Healey said calmly, meeting the angry green eyes evenly. They stared at each other silently, neither one moving, then the older man said softly, "Mike needs you… and he needs you here… with him…"

Steve continued to stare, unflinching, and Healey stared back. Nobody moved for several long seconds then the younger man closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. Haseejian let go of his arm, patting his back comfortingly.

Suddenly an almost startled murmur rippled through the room that had grown silent during the tense exchange. They began to turn towards the far hallway entrance and, as the phalanx of police officers parted, Chief of Detectives John Conden and Captain Rudy Olsen came into view. Spotting Devitt and the others, the police department brass crossed the short distance to them quickly, Olsen taking in Mike's partner with a brief but pleased nod.

Steve and Haseejian scrambled to their feet. "How is he?" Steve asked quietly without preamble, surmising they both had been with Mike and the doctors.

Olsen managed a relieved smile. "He's in Intensive Care but he's all right," he stated simply, his focus on Steve, before turning his head slightly to announce to the entire room, "Eveybody can relax, Lieutenant Stone is going to be fine!"

Devitt, Haseejian and Healey broke into wide, relieved grins as whoops of joy and peels of laughter could be heard throughout the room, colleagues shaking hands, slapping backs and exchanging brief hugs. Through it all Steve stood stock still, staring into his captain's eyes unwaveringly. Olsen stared back with a slight smile. He knew what was going through the younger man's mind right at the moment; he had been through it himself many years ago.

Conden, who was watching the somewhat tense exchange with interest, looked at Olsen and said softly. "Listen, Rudy, I've gotta get back downtown, let everybody know…" He glanced at Steve, who still hadn't moved. "You got this…?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine," the captain answered softly with a nod, his stare remaining on the young detective in front of him.

"Good." Conden looked at Steve and smiled warmly. "Inspector Keller… Steve…" He extended his right hand. The younger man, after a beat, let his eyes slide towards the chief but he didn't say anything. He blinked slowly, as if his mind were a million miles away before he took Conden's hand and shook it. "I'm glad your partner's going to be okay, Steve. He's a hell of a cop and I'd hate to lose him this way… or any way, for that matter."

Steve smiled heavily and managed to nod. "He's a hell of a man too," he said quietly and Conden smiled.

"Yes he is, son, yes he is." Releasing Steve's hand, he turned to Olsen. "Rudy, I'll see you back at the Hall but, ah…" He looked around the room. "But take whatever time you need, okay?"

Olsen nodded, his eyes still on Mike's partner. "Thank you, sir. I will."

With an encouragingly nod at the others, Conden walked away.

Olsen took a step closer to the younger man and, smiling slightly, slipped an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Come on," he said quietly and surely, "there's someone I think you should see."

As they started to move away, a young patrolman raced up to the group, grabbing Haseejian by the arm and pulling him closer to whisper in his ear. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the air around them. Everyone paused, then the Armenian sergeant's eyes slid towards the young inspector.

"Steve, ah," he said gently, nodding at the patrolman, "your car's gotta be moved… it's in an ambulance bay…" He sounded almost apologetic.

With no discernable reaction, Steve reached into his pants pockets and removed the keys, dropping them into Haseejian's hand before turning to Olsen again and moving away.

Haseejian faced the young patrolman, who was holding his hand out eagerly. The homicide sergeant fixed him with a steely-eyed stare and put his forefinger in the baby-faced cop's face. "Do you know how to drive a stick?"

There was a rapid head nod.

"All right," Haseejian continued with deadly earnestness in his gravelly voice, "you can move it, but if you put so much as a scratch on it, it won't be Inspector Keller coming after you – I'll kill you myself, do you hear me?"

The patrolman nodded eagerly once more but this time with a heavy swallow. Haseejian dropped the keys into his outstretched hand and the cop bolted away. Haseejian looked at Healey and they both smiled.

The sympathetic crowd of police officers had parted as Olsen led the young detective across the waiting room into the far corridor then down the hallway towards the stairs. Taking his arm from Steve's shoulders, Olsen smiled as he reached out to open the stairwell doors. "ICU is on the second floor," he said with a smile.

As if finally finding his voice and his equilibrium, Steve stopped just inside the door. "He's awake?"

"Uhm-humh," Olsen nodded with a gentle shrug. "Well, he's in and out, but he's been talking to everybody…"

"And he's really going to be all right?"

"Yeah," his boss chuckled "yeah. I'll, ah, I'll let the doctors explain the how and the why." He shook his head slightly as if in awe.

After a beat of confusion but deciding to let it pass for now, Steve started up the stairs then stopped again. "Rudy, I should've been there with him this morning…"

"That doesn't matter right now, Steve. He just needs to see you, believe me. Anything else can wait for later. He needs to see you right now and you need to see him."

Steve nodded quickly then turned to take the stairs two at a time, the older man struggling to keep up. Steve opened the stairwell door and stepped out onto the second floor, trying to find the words 'Intensive Care Unit' on the sign on the opposite wall.

"Left," he heard Olsen behind him and turned in that direction, immediately recognizing the two large glass doors at the end of the short corridor. Doctors and nurses were moving about inside the large hub at the centre of the huge room lined with small single-bed cubicles. As the older man moved towards a cubicle on the right, Steve felt his heart begin to pound again and his breaths coming in short sharp bursts.

"He's in here," the captain said softly, observing the 'Quiet Please' signs posted around the unit. He stepped to the open entranceway and gestured towards the bed.

Steve stepped to the door and stopped, his eyes riveted on the bed and its occupant. Mike was lying flat, a light beige and blue flannelette blanket pulled up to his waist. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, an electrocardiogram, an IV line in the inside of his right elbow and oxygen. A small white gauze bandage was surgically taped to his chest just to the right of his sternum over his lower ribs.

Olsen was watching the young man carefully. Standing perfectly still, his hands at his sides, Steve took several deep breaths before he stepped into the small room and approached the left side of the bed.

Mike's eyes were closed, his breaths deep and regular. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he was taking a nap. It was not what Steve had been expecting.

He glanced towards the door; Olsen wasn't there. He looked back at the bed, inhaling slowly before reaching out and laying his right hand softly on his partner's left forearm. There was no response.

There was a tall stool pushed into the corner and he pulled it closer to the bed. He was just about to sit when Olsen reappeared at the door along with a tall, heavyset middle-aged doctor, his white coat over light blue scrubs and a stethoscope around his neck.

"Steve," Olsen called softly and beckoned the young cop over.

With a concerned glance at the bed, Steve joined them at the door. Nodding towards the nurse's station, Olsen led the small group away from the cubicle.

"Inspector Steve Keller, this is Doctor Johnson…" Olsen introduced them quickly, "he's been looking after Mike… and he can explain what's going on…" the captain finished with an enigmatic chuckle. Steve looked at him with a confused frown.

The doctor held out his hand. "Inspector," he said amiably.

As Steve took the proffered hand and shook it, he corrected gently, "Steve, please… call me Steve."

Smiling, the doctor nodded. "Okay then… Steve…" He nodded towards the cubicle now behind them. "Mike's your partner…?"

Steve nodded, swallowing heavily.

"Well, as I'm sure Captain Olsen has already told you, you have nothing to worry about. He's going to be okay."

"But he was shot in the chest…"

Johnson smiled, glancing at Olsen, who mirrored the look. The doctor nodded with a shrug. "What can I say – he's a lucky man… Let me explain. There are precious few places in the human torso that can withstand penetration from, let's say, a bullet or a knife and where a major organ isn't involved. It takes an incredible amount of luck." Johnson smiled and nodded towards Mike's cubicle. "Your partner might have used up all of his luck today… but what a day to do it."

Steve tilted his head slightly, still frowning in confusion. "I don't understand…"

Johnson smiled warmly. "There's a small area where the sixth and seventh ribs are connected to the sternum and where the right lung meets the liver and the heart… a very small area where it's actually possible not to hit anything… And that's exactly where the bullet penetrated your partner's chest today…" He raised his eyebrows as if asking Steve to connect the dots.

The cop tilted his head slightly.

"What I'm trying to say," Johnson continued almost lightly, "is that it was… a seeing-eye bullet, I guess you could call it. We took x-rays from every direction and gave him an ultrasound and, as you can see, his heart is being closely monitored… but as far as we can tell right now, the only damage the bullet did was a fairly minor laceration of his liver… which will heal by itself. His lung and his heart are fine…"

Steve closed his eyes and inhaled loudly; he was swaying slightly and Olsen eyed him worriedly. Johnson glanced at the older man and smiled with reassurance.

"Not only that," the doctor added, watching closely as the young cop opened his eyes to stare at him again, "the path of the bullet was absolutely true. It passed through his body in an unbelievably straight line, and ended up buried between his ribs about two inches from his spine. And all we had to do was roll him over, make a small incision in the skin on his back and pop the bullet out."

The doctor chuckled. "We're gonna keep him here in the ICU till tomorrow then move him upstairs and watch him for another day or so. He's gonna be stiff and sore for awhile but he'll make a full recovery. And he should be able to go home by the end of the week at the latest."

Steve was staring at the doctor expressionlessly. Johnson grinned. "Your partner must lead an exemplary life, Steve," he chuckled, pointing at the ceiling, "'cause someone up there is really looking out for him."

# # # # #

Steve approached the bed again but this time with relief and gratitude. Doctor Johnson's optimistic words were continuing to sink in and, although he was still enveloped by an almost paralyzing guilt, the dark clouds were beginning to part.

Swallowing heavily he reached out and picked up his partner's left hand, starting slightly when his fingers touched the small bandage still covering the two stitches in Mike's palm. A gentle smile began to build and he shook his head slightly with a soft chuckle. He looked at the older man's closed eyes. "So much for your seven years of bad luck, hunh…?"

He didn't even feel the warm tears that were slowly streaming down his cheeks.


	17. Chapter 17

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, staring into space, trying not to let the guilt overwhelm him, when he felt the slight movement from the warm fingers he was holding gently in his own. His eyes snapped to Mike's face but there was no change, no sign of consciousness.

He leaned forward slightly, his mouth near his partner's ear, and whispered, "I'm here, Mike, I'm with you."

The fingers moved in his again, a little more forcefully this time. He smiled. Suddenly the older man's chest rose sharply and the blue eyes snapped wide, staring at the ceiling, blinking. His mouth opened and he exhaled painfully.

Steve stood up and leaned over the bed, waiting for the confused blue eyes to focus. Continuing to blink slowly, Mike's attention gradually drifted towards the smiling face looming above him. "Buddy boy…" he said weakly and Steve smiled, his throat tightening at the sound of the sobriquet he didn't hear very often anymore. If he was to be truly honest with himself, he thought, sometimes he really missed it.

"Hey… how are you doing?"

Mike was staring at him, disorientation and apprehension plainly evident in his eyes. Steve tightened his hold on the older man's hand in reassurance; Mike squeezed back. "I got… shot…"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, you did… but you're gonna be okay, you know that, right?"

Trying to smile, Mike managed to bob his head slightly.

"Hey, is our M.C. awake again?" a soft feminine voice came from behind him and Steve's head swiveled towards the door as a beaming middle-aged nurse hustled into the room, crossing to the far side. She looked quickly at the heart monitor and cardiogram before leaning over the bed, taking Steve in with a warm smile. "How do you feel, Mike? Any pain you can't handle?"

Mike's eyes had wandered in her direction and he shook his head slowly, attempting, without much success, to smile. He tried to lick his dry lips.

"Thirsty? Would you like some ice chips?" she asked encouragingly and he nodded vaguely. "Good. I'll get a striper to go get you some. It won't take long." She looked up at Steve who, watching her intently, was awed and heartened by the assured positivity. "Are you his partner?"

"Um, ah, yeah," Steve stumbled, nodding and trying to find his own smile.

She grinned back at him. "Good." She looked at Mike again and smiled. "Be right back, M.C.," she chuckled and quickly disappeared out the door.

Steve looked at his partner, frowning in confusion. Mike's eyes slid slowly in his direction again and the corners of his lips turned up in the ghost of a smile. "M.C.?" the younger man asked, knowing those were not the older man's initials. He felt the weak fingers tighten around his again.

"The striper's on her way to the cafeteria," the nurse announced brightly as she almost charged back into the room, her warm eyes falling on Steve once more. "Betty," she introduced herself with a nod, "and you're…?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer but surprisingly Mike beat him to it. "Steve…" the older man said softly but with encouraging strength, staring at the nurse before his eyes slid towards his partner.

She beamed at Mike before turning her compassionate eyes on the handsome, and obviously anxious, young man. "Hi, Steve." Her attention quickly returned to her patient. She produced a thermometer from somewhere, shook it violently then held it up for Mike to see. He opened his mouth slightly and she placed it gently under his tongue. He let his head sink further into the pillow and closed his eyes.

Steve, whose own worried eyes traveled from his partner's face to that of the nurse, mouthed, _'Is he okay?'_ She nodded vigorously, her open expression and calm manner going a long way in assuaging his concern.

She picked up the sphygmomanometer from a rolling table near the head of the bed and velcroed the cuff around Mike's upper right arm. Pulling a stethoscope from her pocket, she put the tips in her ears then, staring at his face, she inflated the cuff and pressed the diaphragm against the inside of his arm, listening intently.

Watching, Steve sat back down on the stool and waited, staring at Mike's still face, until she removed the diaphragm and let it drop. Glancing at the younger man with a reassuring nod, she removed the cuff, rolled it up and put it back on the table.

"That should do it," she chirped brightly and, waiting till her patient opened his eyes slightly, took the thermometer from his mouth. She brought it close enough to her eyes to read it then looked back at the injured man on the bed. "Your temperature is up just a hair – nothing to be worried about." She slid the thermometer into her uniform pocket. "So, those ice chips should be getting here shortly. How about we raise the bed a little bit? How does that sound?"

Mike, looking drained and woozy, staring at her through half-closed eyes, managed a small nod.

"Then let's do it," she agreed pleasantly, picking up the remote control hooked over the foot of the bed and pressing the button. The bed rose gently for several inches then stopped. "How does that feel?"

Mike nodded once, blinking slowly.

She moved closer to the right side of the bed again and was adjusting the flow of the IV drip when a young woman in a red and white striped uniform appeared at the door, a cardboard cup and plastic spoon in her hands. "Oh, I'll take that," Betty said, crossing quickly to the door and taking the proffered items.

As the candy striper left, she turned to Steve. "Would you like to feed him the ice?" she asked, holding out the cup and spoon.

Temporarily startled, Steve hesitated a beat before getting to his feet, glancing at Mike before moving to the door. "Ah, sure, of course." With a grateful smile, he took the cup and spoon and returned to the stool.

Betty looked at the bed and smiled. "I'll be back a little later, M.C.," she told Mike, who was staring at her through heavy-lidded eyes. He smiled as best he could.

As she turned to leave, Steve stopped her with an "Excuse me…?" She looked at him, frowning. "I sorry," he continued quickly, "but I have to ask… M.C.…?"

She chuckled. "Oh, that. One of the ER doctors called what happened to him this morning a miracle. So he's become our miracle cop… our very own M.C.." And with a soft laugh she left the small room.

With an amazed smile, Steve looked at the bed; Mike was looking at him almost self-consciously from under half-raised eyebrows. "I might just have to start calling you that," he said with an affectionate chuckle as he fished a small piece of ice out of the cup and held it out.

Mike managed one of his patented annoyed frowns before he smiled slightly and opened his mouth. Steve slipped the sliver of ice in with a grin and bobbing eyebrows then he sobered. "Listen, ah, you want me to get in touch with Jeannie…get her to come home…?"

Letting the ice melt on his tongue, Mike shook his head slowly "No… no…" He looked at his partner as if for confirmation. "They said I'm gonna be okay, right…? So I don't want her to come home…" He winced and closed his eyes, catching his breath, his left hand moving to the cover the bandage on his chest.

Sticking the spoon in the cup, Steve put his hand on the older man's arm and squeezed, holding on as Mike rode out the wave of discomfort. Eventually the blue eyes opened slightly and the taut muscles relaxed; his head fell back on the pillow and he took ever-deepening breaths through his open mouth.

Steve loosened his grip but kept his hand lightly on his partner's arm. When Mike licked his dry lips, he asked softly, "You ready for some more ice?"

Mike's head nodded vaguely. "Who shot me…?" he asked weakly, and Steve hoped he didn't notice the brief hitch in his movement as he held the spoon out once more.

As he slipped the piece of ice between Mike's lips, he shook his head. "I, ah, I haven't heard yet… I, ah, I came here as soon as I got home…" he said softly, hoping the older man wouldn't notice he was lying.

"What happened…?" Mike asked simply after staring at Steve for a long second. When the younger man shook his head slightly in confusion, Mike inhaled carefully and asked again, "This morning… you weren't here…?"

Swallowing heavily and looking down, his hands with the cup and spoon dropping into his lap, Steve took a deep breath then looked back up at his best friend and partner, the best friend and partner who had come so close to dying just a few hours earlier. And he knew he couldn't lie again.

"I had trouble with my car," he said simply, almost embarrassed, and he shrugged helplessly.

"What trouble…?" There was genuine, and unexpected, concern in the injured man's weakened voice.

With a shake of his head, Steve tried a woebegone smile. "Something happened to the distributor cap… last night. It had a crack in it. The car wouldn't start and it was too late to get anything done about it. I had to wait till this morning…"

Mike blinked heavily and Steve wasn't sure if he was actually able to pay attention. "The distributor cap…?" he repeated, trying to frown. "Didn't you just have…?" His voice died out but he finished the question with a vague wave of his right hand and Steve instinctively knew what he meant.

"Yeah, I did, I just had it serviced. I don't know why they didn't catch that but I'm going to ask them, that's for sure."

Mike's eyes had slid from his face to stare straight ahead but his expression was far from blank; it was like he was trying to remember something. Steve watched him for several long seconds then asked, "What?"

His eyes finding his partner's, Mike smiled wanly and gently shook his head. Lying back on the pillow again, he closed his eyes.

"You want some more?" Steve asked, rattling the cup.

"Sure," Mike whispered without raising his head or opening his eyes.

When he had the sliver of ice ready on the spoon, Steve whispered, "Here," and Mike opened his mouth slightly.

The cup was almost empty when Mike suddenly opened his eyes. "Where's my jacket?" he asked, as urgently as he could. He tried to sit up higher but the pain forced him back down. "My jacket," he repeated with a gasp.

Alarmed, Steve put the cup and spoon on the floor at his feet and leaned over the bed, putting a hand on Mike's left shoulder to hold him down. "I don't know. Why?"

"Find it," Mike almost ordered, staring at him.

"Okay, okay, I'll find it," Steve nodded, "just… just don't move, okay?" He watched Mike's head fall back onto the pillow and heard him breathing heavily as he almost jogged out of the cubicle and approached the nurse's station. "Sorry to bother you," he said with an apologetic smile, "but do you have any of Lieutenant Stone's clothes? Especially his suit jacket…?"

The nurse behind the counter smiled up at him. "We do keep personal effects when we can… in storage. The lieutenant's might not be there yet, seeing as it was only a few hours ago. I'll check for you, all right, and if I find anything I'll have them bring it right up. Is that okay?"

Steve smiled and slapped the counter. "That's perfect, thank you." He returned to the cubicle. Mike's eyes were closed, his breaths deep and even. Trying not to make a sound, Steve crossed to the stool and sat. Mike's left hand moved towards him slightly and, smiling, he picked it up and squeezed. "They're trying to locate what's left of your clothes, okay? They'll bring them here when they find them."

The usually strong fingers squeezed back as best they could


	18. Chapter 18

Mike's eyes were still closed when an orderly appeared in the ICU cubicle doorway about twenty minutes later. He was carrying a large, grocery store-sized paper bag. He cleared his throat softly to get the visitor's attention. "Lieutenant Stone's things," he announced, holding the bag up when Steve looked at him.

"Oh, yeah, right," the cop confirmed quickly, getting up and crossing to the door. "Thanks." By the time he turned back to the bed, Mike's eyes were open. He glanced at his partner curiously before dumping the contents of the bag on the end of the bed. "Well, we have your shoes, your belt, socks, pants and your jacket... and your hat," he said, retrieving the slightly squashed fedora from the bottom of the pile.

Mike, after a failed attempt at sitting up again, put his left hand out. "The jacket…" he hissed through clenched teeth, "I want to see the jacket…"

Pulling it free from the other clothes, Steve put it in Mike's hand. The older man brought it closer, trying to find the pockets. His right hand disappeared for a split second and re-emerged with a piece of white notepaper. Dropping the jacket on the blanket, he held it up victoriously.

With a curious frown, Steve took the paper, straightening it out before he read it aloud. "845 Grant, Apartment 3." He looked up at Mike and cocked his head. "What's at 845 Grant, Apartment 3?"

Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew would be forthcoming, Mike nodded at the paper. "I got that this morning… I'm pretty sure that's where Dorothy Garland is holed up."

"Dorothy Garland?"

"The last… transvestite… in the Petrou case," his words coming in gasps, realizing any strength he had stored up was rapidly depleting. "I want you to go… find her…" He closed his eyes, trying to fight the pain and losing. With an almost resigned whimper he allowed his head to fall back onto the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut.

Alarmed, Steve stepped closer to the bed and sat on the edge, putting his hand on his partner's upper chest, as if trying to impart some measure of relief. It was well over a minute before the wounded man's breaths started to slow and his stiff posture relax, his eyes finally opening to stare blankly at the ceiling.

When he knew his words could be heard and understood, Steve said quietly, "I'll go, I promise. But not tonight, okay? If she's there tonight, chances are she'll still be there tomorrow morning. Okay?"

The pain-filled blue eyes slid slowly in his direction and the ghost of an affectionate smile curled the lips. He smiled back. "And I promise I won't go alone either… I'll take Bill and a black-and-white with me…" His grin got wider. "Does that make you happy?"

For the first time Mike's smile finally made it to his eyes and he nodded.

Steve was still sitting on the bed and holding his hand when he fell asleep for the final time that night.

# # # # #

The Porsche pulled into an empty spot against the curb on the far side of the street. He smiled ironically as he crawled out, shutting the door as quietly as he could so as not to disturb his neighbours, who no doubt had all their windows open in the oppressive heat. Belatedly he remembered the paper bag on the passenger seat, opening the door again to reach in and snag it. Then, unlike that morning, he locked it.

In the dark he fumbled for his door key before he remembered he didn't need it. Shaking his head, recalling his frantic exit mere hours before, he turned the unlocked knob and opened the door.

The duffel bag was still on the living room floor, as was his discarded t-shirt and jeans. From habit he glanced at the answering machine. It was flashing '3'. He knew they were all new messages and that at least one of them, no doubt, would be from Mel, wondering how things had gone that day and had Mike forgiven him his absence.

He didn't have the heart to call her tonight, to try to explain to her the horrors of the day. Besides, he reasoned, it was too late now anyway; she was most likely asleep already, if not tossing and turning, worrying about him.

Putting the paper bag on the coffee table, he started to pick up his dirty clothes then stopped, dropping heavily onto the couch. He contemplated going into the kitchen and grabbing a beer but even that short foray felt overwhelming. He sat in silence for a couple of minutes then leaned forward and reached into the paper bag.

He pulled the fedora out, gently turning the brim down then using the edge of his hand to smooth the crease on the top. He moved everything off the coffee table and, with an affectionate smile, placed it carefully in the centre.

Then, slowly, he dropped his head into his hands and began to cry.

# # # # #

The sun was barely up but it was already hot when he strode into the bullpen. A few of the others were already there, still in shock from the events of the previous day. He was accosted the moment he stepped through the door, everyone wanting to know how Mike was doing, relieved to hear he would be fine and back to work much sooner than expected.

He was briefing Inspector Tanner about the Petrou case in Mike's office when Devitt poked his head in the door. Steve waved him in.

"So, ah, the rumors I heard are true? Mike's gonna be outa there by the end of the week?"

Steve nodded with a confirming smile. "Yeah,… yeah, he's really going to be all right,"

"Wow," the gray-haired captain exhaled, looking at Tanner and snorting in happy disbelief as he sat on the corner of Mike's desk. "It sure didn't look too good when they brought him in yesterday, that's for sure."

Steve chuckled. "You know what they're calling him in ICU?"

Tanner frowned. "What?"

"M.C. – Miracle Cop." Steve punctuated the announcement with raised eyebrows.

"No shit?" Tanner said softly, rolling it over in his mouth, "M.C." He chuckled. "We may have to start calling him that when he gets back."

Steve shook his head dolefully. "No, I, ah, I tried that yesterday… didn't go over well at all…" He laughed and after a brief pause, the others did as well.

"Thanks for the heads up," Devitt chuckled then sobered. "Hey, what's this I hear about you following up on what Mike was going to do yesterday before all hell broke loose?"

Steve leaned back in his partner's chair. "Yeah, ah, believe it or not, he had the wherewithal last night to find that piece of paper in his jacket pocket with the address on it. Where Dorothy Garland, the last trannie on our list, is supposedly staying? He wants me to check it out before she blows it for someplace else and we never find her. So I promised him I'd take Bill and a unit with me."

Devitt was nodding. "Sounds good to me. If you need anymore backup, just call for it. We don't want another repeat of yesterday, that's for sure." He got up and started for the door. "Oh, uh, when you get back to the hospital later, give Mike my best, will ya?" He turned to leave when Steve stopped him.

"Hey, ah, Roy, what's happening with that rookie Adams?"

Both inspectors watched as the captain set his jaw, taking a beat before he answered. "I haven't heard anything official yet but I know Barry Schiff had to be pulled off him when he got back downtown here. Adams' been canned… and I think the brass and the D.A.'s office are trying to figure out if he can, or should, be charged with aggravated assault on a police officer or attempted murder… or something…"

Letting that sink in for a second or two, Devitt cocked his head and sighed heavily then slapped the doorframe on the way out of the office. "You two be careful, you hear."

When the captain disappeared across the bullpen, Steve turned to Tanner. "You ready?"

"You bet."

"Then let's go wrap this case up for Mike, okay?"

# # # # #

It was just after 8 a.m. when the moss green Galaxie pulled slowly onto Grant, Steve's trained eyes flicking to both sides of the street looking for a place to park. Traffic was unusually light and there was more than one empty space. He swung the large sedan to the curb, knowing the black-and-white had already parked around the corner on Washington so it wouldn't be spotted.

He and Tanner climbed out, their eyes taking in everything on the street with professional precision. The building they were interested in was a few doors down the block. Steve looked across the street, at the police tape still across the closed and padlocked door of the grocery store that had been the scene of the shooting the day before. He stared at the door for several long seconds, well aware of what could have been and profoundly grateful that in a few short hours he would be seeing his partner again.

The two uniformed officers came around the corner to join them and they approached the small apartment building whose door was tucked between a Chinese restaurant and a laundromat. Steve automatically checked the .38 on his left hip before he opened the apartment door and led Tanner and the unies up the narrow flight of stairs to the second floor.

Apartment 3 was down a short hall on the right. Flanking it, two on a side, Steve glanced at Tanner before knocking. There was no response. Waiting a beat, he knocked again, louder. "Dorothy Garland, this is the San Francisco Police Department. We need you to open the door!" Still no response.

With a frustrated sigh, Steve looked at Tanner and cocked his head, then turned to the patrolman standing behind him. He nodded towards the door and the burly uniformed cop stepped in front of it. He was just about to rear back and raise his right leg to kick the door in when they heard the sound of a dead bolt sliding open and a knob lock released.

The patrolman took a step back as the door opened as far as the chain would allow and Steve stepped in front of the door so he could be seen. He had fished his star and I.D. out of his pocket and was holding it out. "Miss Garland, I'm Inspector Keller and this is Inspector Tanner," he nodded over his shoulder at the black detective who was now standing behind him. "We'd like to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don't mind?"

The dark, heavily made-up eye that was peering at him through the crack in the door, blinked slowly. "What's this about?" came the deep but surprisingly feminine voice, quiet and tentative.

"Ah, it's about a continuing investigation that, ah, that Vice has going about the escalating abuse of, ah, of workers in the sex trade recently…"

He could almost feel Tanner's eyes on him, knowing his colleague was undoubtedly impressed by the off-the-cuff 'explanation' of their sudden appearance. He was actually quite proud of himself as well.

"How… how did you get my name…?" Garland asked softly.

"Well, ah, we compiled a list of previous victims and we wanted to make sure we talked to everyone to see, well, to see if we could establish a pattern of abuse." Steve knew this was a gamble, but the odds were heavily in his favour that Dorothy Garland had been a victim of a violent john and at one point may have even reported it.

After a moment of silence, the door closed softly and they could hear the chain being removed. The door opened slightly again but Garland was gone. Glancing at Tanner, Steve pushed the door open. The short hallway was empty. His hand on the .38, Steve led his three colleagues down the hall to a small but tidy and tastefully decorated living room.

Perched on what looked to be a light grey Louis dining chair, Dorothy Garland, her long straight dark hair framing a stunningly beautiful, high-cheekboned face, was staring at them anxiously, her right hand holding the gorgeous red and gold silk caftan closed at her throat. "What do you want to know?" she asked quietly.


	19. Chapter 19

"May we?" Steve asked, gesturing at the salmon-coloured upholstered loveseat against the far wall. Dorothy Garland closed her eyes briefly and nodded.

Leaning forward, Steve rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, lacing his fingers. He smiled encouragingly. "Miss Garland," he began gently with a soft smile, "I don't want to waste your time so I'll come straight to the point. Can you tell us where you were on the night of Thursday, June 20th?"

Garland had lowered her head and was looking at him from under her brow. "The 20th?" she asked quietly and he nodded. Her snort of derision was short and ironic and she raised her head to meet his eyes evenly. "Where do you think I was, Inspector? I mean, you already said you know what I do for a living, am I right?"

Not expecting to be challenged so soon, Steve sat back slowly, resisting the temptation to glance at Tanner beside him on the loveseat. He smiled wryly. "You're right, and I apologize –" he began but she cut him off.

"This isn't about a Vice investigation, is it? I know all the current Vice inspectors… and you two aren't Vice. You're Homicide, aren't you? You're here about that Greek sailor that was killed over on Broadway, aren't you?"

Both detectives froze, almost unconsciously sharing a surprised glance. Clearing his throat softly, Steve leaned forward again. "Yes, we are… So what can you tell us about that?"

Garland stared at him without moving for several long seconds, as if trying to gauge the depth of his commitment and sincerity. "Well," she began slowly, "I can't tell you that I did it, if that's what you want to hear…"

Steve began to drop his head in resignation but she continued.

"… but I can tell you who did."

His head snapped up again, his green eyes boring into her brown ones. She didn't flinch. Beside him, Steve could hear and feel Tanner lean forward as well. A silence stretched out between them all again before, with the touch of an ironic smile, she said, "So is that what you want to hear?"

Steve matched her smile. "Yes, ma'am, that's exactly what we want to hear."

# # # # #

Steve was riding the elevator up to the fifth floor, a small paper bag in his hand and a newspaper and two magazines tucked under his arm. The doors opened and he stepped out and turned to the left, immediately starting to look for the appropriate room number on the small plaques beside each door, some open, some closed. He found the one he was looking for and was just about to open the door when the patient's name card caught his eye: _Michael Stone ("M.C.!")_. Chuckling softly, he pushed the door open without knocking, his face breaking into a wide grin when his eyes fell on the occupant of the lone bed in the small room.

Mike, now dressed in a blue hospital gown, eyes closed and hands folded atop the blanket over his stomach, was lying against the raised bedhead. Wires from the heart monitor attached to his chest emerged from the top of the gown and he was still hooked up to oxygen and the IV, but otherwise he looked much improved. Hearing the sound of the door, he opened his eyes and turned his head, breaking into a wide smile.

"Hey, hey," Steve chuckled as he moved to the bed, grinning. "You look a lot better."

Though lines of discomfort were still visible on his face and his eyes weren't as bright as they usually were, it was easy to see he was on the way to a full recovery already. Involuntarily, Steve sighed with relief.

"I feel a little better, that's for sure. Still hurts like hell though…"

The younger man raised his eyebrows. "Well, you were shot in the chest, remember?" He tried to keep his tone light but wasn't completely successful.

Mike smirked, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head then, obviously eager to start questioning his partner about the events of the morning, tried to sit up a little further. He gasped involuntarily, catching his breath, his right hand going to his chest as he gritted his teeth.

"Easy, easy," Steve soothed quickly, dropping the magazines and newspapers on the side table. "Don't move, let me raise the bed for you."

Mike dropped his head back and closed his eyes, still wincing, as the bed rose higher then stopped. He opened his eyes. "Did you find Dorothy Garland?" he asked without preamble and Steve chuckled.

He held up the small paper bag in his left hand. "What? You don't even want to have lunch before you start grilling me?"

"I already had lunch," Mike growled. "What happened with Dorothy Garland?"

"Then you need dessert," Steve chuckled, opening the bag and taking out a few oversized paper napkins and a large, very appetizing apple Danish.

Mike stared at the mouth-watering pastry, eyes narrowed, then at his partner. Steve grinned mischievously, his eyebrows raised quizzically. Finally the older man shook his head sharply. "All right, give me the damn thing," he snapped, trying not to smile as Steve handed him the Danish then spread an opened napkin on his lap before reaching back into the bag to take out the second one.

"See, I knew you couldn't resist it," the younger man chuckled affectionately before tearing a chunk off his blueberry Danish and popping it into his mouth.

After taking the first bite, and allowing himself a brief moment of pleasure, Mike fixed Steve with a steely-eyed stare again. "You can talk while we eat – what happened with Dorothy Garland? Did she do it?"

Chewing and frowning, Steve shook his head. "No," he said almost sadly after he swallowed, "no, she didn't… and I believe her too."

Mike sighed disappointedly, looking crestfallen. "Damn," he whispered, looking down.

"But…" Steve said quietly and watched his partner's head snap up, "but she does know who did do it…" He smiled as he watched the wheels in Mike's brain, slowed by the painkillers coursing through his system, pick up speed as the words sank in, his brows rising slowly and his eyes widening.

"She knows?" he asked softly, starting to smile.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, she knows…"

Mike's smile got a little wider as he waited. Steve pulled another piece off his Danish and popped it in his mouth, grinning smugly, his eyebrows as high as they could go. After several very long and silent seconds, Mike finally exploded. "Well, are you going to tell me?" He winced slightly, and Steve immediately regretted the teasing that at any other time would have tickled them both.

"All right, all right," he said quickly, grateful when Mike shook his head and chuckled softly. He still had to lot to make up for, whether his partner was aware of it or not. With an apologetic smile, he pulled a stool close to the bed and sat. "Well, we now know who did it, but we don't actually know who did it…" he said guardedly, shaking his head slowly with a shrug.

Mike frowned.

Steve smiled warmly. "I'm trying not to be funny or talk in riddles, believe me…" He sighed almost sadly. "Dorothy told us all about Costas Petrou. He was well known in the trannie circles, it seems. They all knew him."

Mike cocked his head slightly. "Even the ones we've talked to already?"

"Yeah, even them." When Mike opened his mouth to comment, Steve held up a forefinger. "Already ahead of you - we're going to go back and talk to them all again. But more about that a little later."

Smiling proudly, Mike settled back against the pillows, the half-eaten Danish forgotten on his lap. "Go on," he said slowly with a chuckle, knowing he was going to be informed of everything that had occurred that morning in the younger's man own sweet time. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Well, it seems our Mr. Petrou could sometimes be not a nice guy…"

"Sometimes…?" Mike asked with a concerned frown.

"Yeah." Steve said slowly, drawing the word out. "From what Dorothy said, the girls all knew about his… proclivity for sudden violence… but he wasn't all the time. And in fact, when he wasn't being violent, he was very generous. He was a big tipper… and I mean big. We're talking a couple of hundred."

"So what would set him off?"

Steve shook his head and shrugged. "Nobody knows, she said. They'd talked about it amongst themselves, but they'd sort of all agreed to take the gamble, 'cause like I said, he could be very generous."

Mike exhaled loudly, his gaze turning inward. He was only too familiar with the risks the streetwalkers took to make a living. It was an incredibly dangerous life, in so many ways, and magnanimous johns were few and far between. It was understandable that they would turn a blind eye to the occasional slap, the occasional punch… the occasional rape. "So what happened two weeks ago?"

"Well, it seems that the trannies have a groupie…"

Mike inclined his head. "A groupie?"

"Yeah, there's this… this mentally handicapped guy that likes to hang around with them. A big guy. I guess he's retarded, I don't really know and neither do the ladies. They call him Lennie."

"They _call_ him Lennie? That's not his name?"

"Well, they don't know that for sure, either, but that's what they call him. And that's Lennie as in Lennie and George. From -"

"I know," Mike interrupted him. "_Of Mice and Men_. I read the book when I was in school, I think everybody does, right? But I remembered that one because Lennie was this big gentle guy…" He swallowed heavily and looked down, a small smile playing over his face as the memories returned. He snorted lightly. "I was a big kid and I was tall… a lot of the other kids made fun of me… and my heritage. I, ah, I identified with Lennie, I guess you could say… and maybe because my middle name is George, I sort of understood how the other fella felt too…"

Steve watched silently as Mike's focus slowly returned to the here and now and he looked up, shaking his head slightly in embarrassment. The younger man smiled warmly.

"So, ah, so this Lennie is the guy you're looking for for the Petrou murder?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

"What makes you think he killed Petrou?"

"'Cause he was with Dorothy the night it happened."

"He was with her? What do you mean?"

"Well, it seems like Lennie had sort of become their… guardian angel. The girls trusted him. They seem to think that he's got no one else, that he's alone, and over the years they've become his family."

"Over the years…?"

Steve nodded almost sadly. "From what Dorothy told us, Lennie just started hanging around with some of the trannies about three years ago. He didn't want sex, he didn't want protection money, he just wanted their company. They're pretty sure he's not gay; they, ah, they think he's asexual." He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "And he became more than just their friend… he starting looking out for them, even saving some of them from the more aggressive johns."

"How does he make a living?" Mike asked quietly.

His partner shrugged. "They don't know. He doesn't have a job that they know of… they slip him some money once in a while but he seems to get by one way or the other… They don't even know where he lives… and they've never gotten around to asking him… he's pretty shy…"

"So, ah, what happened that night?"

"Well, seems that he'd heard the ladies talking over the years about this Greek sailor who gets to The City every so often, who's really generous but can also get really violent sometimes, and he made them promise to let him know when the sailor came to town. And that Thursday, he was with them on Broadway when Petrou approached them and asked Dorothy to be his 'date' that night. She'd been with him before and she figured he was worth the risk."

"Lennie went with them?"

Steve nodded. "Dorothy says she didn't know. They have a small apartment that they rent on Kearny that they use for tricks… and Lennie knew about it. She figures he must've followed them. And she's glad he did."

Mike's eyebrows rose. "What happened?"

"After Petrou was finished, he attacked her. With a garrote."


	20. Chapter 20

"So the garrote was his? He was killed with his own weapon?"

Steve nodded.

"Dorothy told you that?"

Another nod.

"How does she know?"

The younger man smiled. He knew that question would be coming, as had all the others, and he was thrilled that Mike had been lucid enough to follow everything he had been told so far. After all, it was just a little more than twenty-four hours since he had been shot and come less than an inch away from being killed. But now the older man's eyes were starting to look heavy and the blinks seemed to be taking longer, the gaps between them shorter.

"Because she was there when he did it."

The lieutenant dropped his head and stared at his partner from under a furrowed brow. "So she was with Lennie when he killed Petrou?"

Steve tilted his head. "Not precisely… Dorothy had run out of the room when Lennie broke in…"

Mike was shaking his head slowly. "Stop… stop…" he ordered softly. Then he smiled. "You're trying to see if I'm still paying attention, aren't you?" he asked with a slight chuckle.

Steve laughed gently and nodded. "Well, you do seem to be losing a little steam…"

His head coming up quickly, Mike snorted. "I'll tell you when I'm losing steam, okay?" His words sounded sharp but they were tempered with a light tone and an almost embarrassed smile. He knew Steve was worried about him.

Smiling back, the younger cop reached out, gently laid a hand on his partner's leg and squeezed. "Okay. So, ah, where was I…?"

"You were just about to tell me how Lennie managed to kill Petrou with Dorothy either in the room, or not in the room… I'm not sure…" A tiny smile was playing across his lips. "Are you?"

With a smirk and a snort, Steve patted Mike's leg then took his hand away. He sobered. "Dorothy said she was alone in the room with Petrou, who had asked for, what was for him, 'the usual' – and before you ask, I didn't. Unless it's absolutely necessary for the report, I don't want to know." He looked at Mike sharply. "Do you?"

Pursing his lips, the older man shook his head. "No, I'm good."

"Good," Steve nodded, smiling briefly in agreement. "Anyway, Petrou had finished and Dorothy expected him to leave, like always, but this time he went… crazy, she said. He punched her in the stomach, she says, and when she was on the floor trying to catch her breath, she suddenly felt something around her neck and she was pulled up to her knees. She said she was groping at her neck, trying to pull whatever it was away from her throat, but she couldn't feel anything…"

Mike's eyes had unfocused and he was staring straight ahead, taking in every word.

"She had almost blacked out, she said, when all of a sudden the tension on her throat went away. She says she saw Petrou going down and someone standing over him. She couldn't see who it was, she said, but she got to her feet and ran from the room into the hallway, still trying to breath. She could hear a struggle… it was loud at first, she said, then it got really quiet. She couldn't tell what was going on until Lennie came out of the room, all sweaty and bug-eyed… and those are her exact words."

Mike looked up slowly and blinked several times before offering, "He'd strangled Petrou with his own garrote and then he and Dorothy somehow got his body out of the apartment and dumped him in the alley off Broadway… right?"

Steve nodded, smiling almost sadly. "They waited till about four in the morning, when things had quieted down. Dorothy is, ah, well, she's not a small woman… They took him out the back way through an alley and then just carried him down the street. If anybody saw them, nobody said anything… maybe they thought they were rolling a drunk, who knows…?"

"So that's why we didn't find any fingerprints on the garrote and no evidence in the alley…"

"Umh-humh."

Mike stared at him for several seconds; Steve didn't move, knowing his partner was slowly working things through. "You said you believed her… Why?"

"Because she still has the marks from the garrote around her neck," he answered simply.

Nodding slowly, Mike's eyes narrowed. "And you have no idea who this Lennie really is, right?"

Steve nodded again. "No. We do have a description of him, a really good one actually, from Dorothy, and Bill's bringing her in this afternoon to work with a sketch artist. But we do have an APB out, with what we have so far, and with the emphasis that he was last seen in the Jackson Square area but that he could be anywhere."

Mike was staring at him with a soft, sleepy smile. "You got a lot done this morning, didn't you?"

Steve leaned back slightly, looking very pleased with himself. "I did, didn't I?" As he stared at the older man for several long beats, he could feel his throat tightening as he thought once again of how differently things could have turned out. He bit his bottom lip to keep it from trembling, hoping Mike didn't notice. He didn't; his heavy-lidded eyes had already closed.

With a quiet sigh, Steve stood and carefully picked up the napkin and what was left of the Danish from his partner's lap, trying not to disturb him. He'd almost gotten away with it when the blue eyes opened slowly; he froze and smiled guiltily, as if caught doing something he shouldn't.

Mike tilted his head and an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"I'm getting outa here. You're half asleep."

Opening his eyes wider and trying to push himself a little higher, Mike shook his head. "No no no, not yet… I'm okay. Besides, I can sleep the rest of the day _and _all night… I'm good…"

Tilting his head with a wry smile, Steve dropped the napkin and Danish on the side table and sat again. "All right, so what else do you want to know?" he shrugged.

Shaking his head slightly as if trying to wake himself up a little more, Mike said with a soft sigh, "The APB… what did you say in it?"

"Eyes on only. I don't want him arrested, just located."

Mike nodded. "Good… 'cause I want you to be there when they do arrest him, okay?"

Steve frowned. "Why?" he asked gently, even though he thought he knew the answer already.

"Because I can't be…" the older man said simply, "and I want someone with him that understands him… that won't just see him as this big, dumb guy who murdered a sailor…" Mike closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. "He'll be scared and confused, and that'll make him dangerous… so you're gonna need to be his George… Do you know what I mean?"

Steve inhaled deeply, feeling the deep sting of tears in his eyes. He nodded slowly. "Yeah… I know what you mean," he almost whispered.

With a satisfied smile, Mike let his eyes close. Steve dropped his head, taking a beat, trying to get the almost overwhelming love he felt for this man under control. He sat very still for the next several minutes, until he was sure Mike was asleep, then got up again, quietly moved the stool away from the bed and tiptoed from the room.

# # # # #

"Any luck yet?" Steve asked as he strode into the bullpen, glancing in Tanner's direction.

Putting a hand over the receiver at his ear, the black inspector shook his head. "Not yet, but I may have a lead on his real name …" He quickly refocused on the phone again. "Yes, ma'am, I'm still here."

Stopping at his desk, Steve glanced towards Mike's office, surprised to see Captain Roy Devitt sitting behind the desk. He dropped his jacket on the back of his chair and crossed to the inner office door.

Sensing his presence, Devitt looked up from the report he was reading. "I'm back," he said with an ironic smirk and a 'what-can-you-do' shrug.

Steve snorted. "Well, better you than somebody from Robbery or Vice, I guess."

"Gee thanks…" The captain laughed and beckoned the younger man into the room. "Anything I can do for you?"

Dropping heavily into the guest chair, Steve shook his head. "No, I'm good. Well, wait a second… can you get us another body or two – alive, I mean? Mike tried but he couldn't get the brass to budge."

Devitt grimaced. "I know you guys are short-staffed, and it's even worse with Mike out… but they're not going to move on this at all, at least not for this fiscal year. Maybe after the next mayoral race…?" He tried to sound hopeful.

"Great," Steve shook his head again, this time in derision. "Just great…" He took another deep breath. "Oh, ah, I just got back from seeing Mike again. He's doing great. They moved him to a private room and, all things considered, he's doing better than anybody could've hoped."

Devitt had sat back, grinning at the good news. He exhaled loudly. "That's great… that's…" He swallowed heavily. He and Mike went back a long way, Steve knew. "Say, ah," the captain continued, "he hasn't asked about what happened to him again, has he?"

Steve shook his head. "No… and that surprises me. I mean, I know he's been focused – well, as focused as he can be with all those painkillers in him – on the Petrou case and he was preoccupied today with grilling me about my morning –"

"Yeah, that's your preliminary report I'm reading," Devitt interrupted, gesturing towards the papers on the desk.

Steve nodded. "And he was pretty out of it by the time we finished… so either he just hasn't gotten around to it again yet –"

"Which I doubt," Devitt interrupted again.

Once more Steve nodded. "… or he's figured it out and he doesn't want me to know."

"Now that sounds more like him, doesn't it?"

Steve leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands. "Yeah… yeah, it does…"

# # # # #

His left arm felt heavy. He raised it slowly, almost dragging his hand across his body to rest his fingers over the bandage. Through the gauze he could feel the two stitches that held the skin together over the hole in his chest.

His eyes closed, he snorted soundlessly. '_Only two stitches'_, he thought, the same number as were in his left hand. One wound minor, the other almost fatal.

He tried to think back over the past twenty-hours, most of which he couldn't recall. He thought he could remember lying in the alley and the paralyzing pain that radiated out from his chest… then voices, voices telling him to hang on, that he was in good hands, that he was going to make it…

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, trying to take a deep breath then exhaled raggedly. _'Lucky,'_ he thought, _'that's the word I kept hearing yesterday… lucky…'_

He fingered the stitches once again. _'Just how much luck does one person get in a lifetime?_' he asked himself.

# # # # #

"So, ah, Roy," Steve cleared his throat, "I, ah, I want to see Sergeant Schiff and Patrolman Adams –"

"_Former_ Patrolman Adams," Devitt corrected him pointedly, with raised eyebrows.

Steve eyes widened as he glared for a split second then nodded curtly. "_Former_ Patrolman Adams. I, ah, I have some questions…" He was struggling to keep his voice calm and his tone even.

The captain leaned forward slowly in Mike's chair and rested his forearms on the desk. "Yes, I bet you do… but Adams is no longer with the department, and I don't know where he is right now. And the last I heard, Schiff was in with Rudy and Chief Conden again this morning. But, ah, I'll give him a call and let him know you want to see him… Is that okay with you?"

Steve smiled slightly and nodded. "I'd like that, yes."

# # # # #

Mike heard the door open. A nurse, no doubt, to check his IV again, he thought, too tired and woozy to open his eyes. But the footsteps that crossed the tile floor were too heavy for any of the nurses, and he wasn't expecting a doctor.

He turned his head towards the door and slowly opened his eyes. Sergeant Barry Schiff, his service cap in his hands, was standing beside the bed.

"Hi, Mike," he said warmly, with a relieved smile, "If you're up to it, I, ah, I think you and I have to talk."


	21. Chapter 21

Sergeant Schiff was worrying the visor of his dark blue service cap. "Well, ah, that is," he began again, "only if you're up to it. I mean, if you're too… tired, I understand –"

"That's okay, Barry," Mike interrupted him softly, "I can talk for a bit."

Swallowing heavily, the tall sergeant nodded with a small grateful smile.

"Have a seat." The homicide detective indicated the stool that Steve had set near the wall and Schiff turned to glance at it.

He looked back, shaking his head. "No, that's okay, I don't want to stay that long… you need to rest..." He dropped his eyes.

"Barry," Mike said as strongly as he could and Schiff's head came up, "I'm all right… and I'll tell you when I need to rest, okay…?"

Schiff studied the lieutenant for several long beats before he smiled slightly and nodded. "Okay, Mike… thanks…" He swallowed heavily again, looking down, as if not knowing how to start.

"I know it was your rookie, Barry," Mike said softly, not at all surprised when Schiff's head snapped up and their eyes met.

"You saw him?" the training sergeant asked quietly.

Mike shook his head. "No… no, but I remember you kneeling over me just after I was hit… and I guess I just put two-and-two together…" He smiled warmly. "I really owe you one, Barry…"

Schiff was shaking his head, looking down again. "No… no, Mike, all, ah, all I did was help but I wasn't the only one…"

"I know… but I can thank you, can't I?" Mike punctuated the request with raised eyebrows.

Almost reluctantly, Schiff bobbed his head. "You're, ah, you're welcome…" He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Look, ah, Mike, Adams… he's a good kid that just got way in over his head…"

"He almost shot Steve too, Barry."

"I know, I know," Schiff sighed loudly, looking down and shaking his head. "He shouldn't've been on the street again after that, at least not so soon, but we're so damn understaffed right now… the whole department." He raised his head and met Mike's intense stare. "You know that. I know you've been lobbying for more manpower up in Homicide."

Mike nodded.

"And he's a special case, Mike, he really is. He comes from a long line of cops – father, grandfather, great-grandfather. Not here, mind you," he continued quickly when Mike frowned, knowing the veteran detective hadn't recognized the name. "The Adams' are from up in Sacramento; his parents divorced and his mother brought him here about six years ago. He still wanted to become a cop…"

Mike was looking down, staring unfocused at the blanket, tugging at his bottom lip with his left thumb and forefinger.

"I gave him every break, Mike, every one…" Schiff shook his head slowly. "He's just not cut out to be a cop, no matter how much he wants it. And it's not that he's overly aggressive – just the opposite, actually. He's a big kid, like you saw in The Armory… but he's… he 's scared… He doesn't particularly like handling guns…" He sighed heavily and shrugged in chagrin. "He wanted so much to make his family proud, you know…"

Mike looked up, letting his hand drop to the bed. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate but he knew he needed to finish this particular conversation now. "What happened yesterday?"

Schiff looked at him and shook his head slightly. "We got the call that there was a shooting on Grant. We must've gotten there just after you entered the grocery store 'cause we didn't see you… and we weren't looking for an unmarked parked anywhere… I was responding to dispatch and Adams was driving. He was out of the car and into the store before I finished the call and I just got to the front door when I heard the –" He stopped, caught his breath and swallowed. "When I heard the shot…" he finished quietly.

Mike dropped his head and took a deep breath, trying not to wince. He closed his eyes. After several seconds he said quietly, "It was hard to see in that alley… the sunlight was incredibly bright… He, ah… I was heading back to the door and putting my gun away…" He paused and took another deep breath. "He must've seen my gun…"

Schiff nodded. "That's what he said…" Mike looked up at him, frowning. "He said he saw a gun and he just… he panicked, Mike, that's all there is to it…"

The homicide lieutenant smiled slightly, ironically, shaking his head. "Well, at least he didn't shoot a civilian, hunh?"

Schiff frowned then slowly a grateful smile emerged.

"So what's going to happen to him?" Mike asked matter-of-factly, knowing the guilt the training sergeant was feeling ran very deep but also knowing that, as the officer in charge, he was ultimately responsible for what his trainees did on the street.

Schiff cleared his throat. "Well, he's been released from the department, of course, and I think the D.A.'s office is trying to figure out what, if any, charges to bring against him –"

"Charges?" Mike interrupted, alarmed. "No… no, I don't want him facing any charges." He tried to sit up further, wincing and gritting his teeth in pain and frustration.

Schiff took a step towards the bed and held his hands out to stop him. "Mike…"

"Barry, I already talked to IA first thing this morning… and I told them all I could remember, which wasn't too much…" He snorted mirthlessly. "I told them I don't remember seeing my shooter… but that I was walking back up the alley towards the door… and I was holstering my .38… And that I remember stepping into a bright shaft of sunlight… it was blinding… and then I got hit…" He closed his eyes and gently laid his head back onto the pillow.

Worried, Schiff took a step closer to the bed; he reached out to touch his injured colleague but stopped before his hand made contact with the lieutenant's arm. He watched for several very long moments until Mike's eyes slowly opened and his head turned.

"Adams couldn't have known he was firing at a cop… so I'll forgive him that. But he should've waited to see who he _was_ actually firing at… and I can't forgive him for that… but I don't want him to face charges… Like I said, better me than some innocent civilian, right?" He blinked slowly then fixed the sergeant with a hard glare.

"It's been a very long day, Barry… I'm done," he said expressionlessly, his head rolling back on the pillow and his eyes closing.

# # # # #

"_Hello?"_

"Cathy? Hi, it's Steve, is Mel there?"

"_Hi, Steve. Sorry, Mel's working a double today – somebody called in sick, I guess."_

"Oh, okay, thanks, Cathy."

"_No problem. See ya!"_

Steve let the receiver dangle in his hand before slowly placing it on the cradle. Exhaling slowly, he toyed with the idea of calling her at the restaurant but thought better of it; what he needed to tell her he wanted to do in private, face to face.

"Hey, Steve!"

He looked up; Tanner, his own phone to his ear, was beckoning from his desk. Steve got up and crossed the bullpen. Tanner waved him into his guest chair, picking up a photocopy of a sketch artist's conception and tossing it towards his colleague. He put his hand over the receiver and mouthed, "Dorothy came in." He looked down pointedly at the drawing.

Steve gave it a good look. It was a very detailed rendering of a large white man with a military buzzcut, beefy checks, small ears and an unremarkable nose. He was smiling, which was unusual in a police sketch.

"Yeah… Okay… Okay, thanks. I appreciate your help." Hanging up, Tanner turned to his colleague, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He pointed at the drawing. "Good, hunh? I told her he shouldn't be smiling but she said she couldn't picture him any other way."

Steve looked up and snorted, tossing the sketch back on the desk. "So, what've you got?"

"Well, I think I might have this 'Lennie' guy identified." He glanced down at the pad on his desk. "Charles Arthur Cambridge…"

Frowning with a confused smile, Steve leaned forward. "How the hell…?"

Tanner bounced his eyebrows, continuing to smile. "I did a little digging. When Dorothy said he was a little slow, and she told us she thought he was about thirty years old, I thought I'd check with all the schools in town. Well, not _all_ the schools…" he chuckled.

"Anyway, if he is retarded, chances are he might not've made it to high school, so I got ahold of the Board of Education and got a list of all the Elementary and Middle Schools around town… and I've had a busy couple of hours, let me tell you," he chuckled, still grinning. "But I managed to hit it out of the park, as Mike would say, within my first five calls."

With a skeptical frown, Steve picked up the notepad, turned it around and looked at the name. "You do know there are, oh, I don't know, about, what, thirty, forty elementary and middle schools in The City? So what makes you think this…" he glanced at the pad again, "Charles Arthur Cambridge is our guy?"

Looking just a little bit affronted, Tanner pulled his head back and his smile wavered. "Intuition. But just in case, I am going to call the rest of the schools tomorrow." He snatched the notepad back and dropped it on the desk, looking miffed that Steve had taken the wind from his sails so quickly. "But my gut tells me this is the guy." He emphasized his point by tapping his forefinger on the name.

Steve looked at him soberly for a couple of seconds then started to laugh and smile, shaking his head. He leaned back and glanced at his watch. "It's too late to call any more schools today, that's for sure. Look, ah, why don't you give me half the list you got left and I'll start first thing in the morning."

The smile returning, Tanner took the photocopied list on his desk and tore it in half from top to bottom. He picked up his pen and drew a line through the top three. Handing it over, he pointed to the fourth school name and phone number on the list. "Start there."

Laughing, Steve got up. "If you're right about Cambridge," he said with a chuckle, "I'll buy you lunch." With a wink, he started back to his desk.

# # # # #

It was after ten when he got off the elevator and started down the darkened hall. It was well after visiting hours, he knew, but he was hoping his natural charm, and the gold star in his pocket, would open doors for him.

He had to see Mel tonight, he knew; there was too much being bottled up inside him. But he also knew he had to wait until she was finished her shift, sometime between midnight and one.

He didn't want to go home right now either; he just couldn't face sitting alone in the dark again tonight, fighting off the demons that were threatening to overwhelm him. The long talk about the Petrou case with Mike this afternoon had gone a long way in helping tamper down the guilt, but it couldn't erase it completely. They still needed to talk about yesterday… and about so much more.

He had been running on almost pure adrenaline since listening to the answering machine message, he knew, and his hand shook when he slipped the star and I.D. out of his pocket and showed it to the night duty nurse. She looked at it, then up at him and smiled, nodding and telling him the lieutenant was asleep and probably wouldn't wake up.

He didn't mind, he told her, and she smiled again, understanding. He pushed the door open slowly; the room was eerily dim, the green glow from the heart monitor the only light in the room.

Slowly and silently he moved the stool from against the wall close to the bed and sat. He stared at his sleeping partner for a long time before he reached out and carefully picked up his hand. Mike moved slightly at the touch but his eyes didn't open.

It was well over an hour later before Steve slipped silently from the room.

# # # # #

The battered light blue '66 Toyota Corolla pulled into a parking space down the street. The sole occupant got out and slammed the door, locking it before slinging the large macramé handbag over her shoulder and crossing the street, her keys still in her hand.

She pulled up short when she got to the wrought-iron door. The overhead light was out and there was a man leaning against the wall several feet from the door. She caught her breath in alarm.

"Hi," Steve Keller said softly, "sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He stepped quickly towards her as he heard her exhale loudly in relief, her hand over her heart.

"Jeez, sorry… I just wasn't expecting to see you here." Her face lit up and she tilted her head, her eyes warm and welcoming.

He was smiling as he stepped closer, reaching out to put his hands on her upper arms, staring into her suddenly worried blue eyes.

She cocked her head slightly. "Are you okay?" she asked, sensing something different about him.

"I have to talk to you, Mel…" he said softly, swallowing and shaking his head sadly.

She could feel him trembling. "Okay," she said quietly, nodding gently. He followed her through the wrought-iron gate, waiting while she unlocked the front door. Then, tenderly, knowing that for some reason he needed her right now more than he'd ever needed her before, she took his hand and led him up the stairs to her apartment.


	22. Chapter 22

She opened the apartment door, glancing once more over her shoulder. Steve was standing very still, looking down, obviously miles away. She preceded him into the small, darkened living room, turning on the lamp beside the couch before she closed the door.

He looked up when the light snapped on, brow furrowed. "Cathy's not home?"

Shaking her head, Mel crossed behind him to close and lock the door. "She's staying at Marco's tonight," she said with a soft laugh. "They finally got the same night off together…" Watching him, knowing something was wrong but unsure how to start to broach it with him, she crossed behind him again to the lamp near the kitchen door and turned it on as well.

He was watching her without expression.

"Sit down," she said quietly, gesturing toward the couch. "Do you want a glass of wine?"

He took off his jacket and pulled his loosened tie off. "Sure." He dropped heavily into the old brown leather sofa as she disappeared into the kitchen. He could hear the tinkling of glass and the soft pop of a cork. He was sitting back, staring at nothing, when she returned with the two glasses, handing him one as she sat beside him.

"What's wrong?" she said without preamble, knowing his need to talk was the only thing on his mind right now. "Is Mike still mad at you about yesterday? I mean, Steve, it really wasn't your fault, now was it? If you want, I can –"

He put the glass down on the coffee table and grabbed her forearm, squeezing; her hand was jostled and the wine came close to spilling. He stared at her for a long beat. "Mel…," he said almost breathlessly, looking down and taking a deep breath before raising his head again. "Mel, Mike was shot yesterday."

Her eyes snapped wide and she gasped, her free hand covering her mouth. "Oh my god, Steve, is he all right?"

He nodded quickly, increasing the pressure of his hand on her arm. "He's, ah, he's going to be okay but, ah… he was lucky, he was so lucky… He was shot in the chest…"

She gasped again, fumbling to put her glass down and trying not to shake. "Oh my god," she breathed, reaching out to grab his upper arm, staring into his face.

"He's gonna be okay," he repeated, nodding encouragingly, "it, ah, it missed everything vital, believe it or not… But he's going to be in the hospital for a few days…" He tried to smile but he was having trouble.

She stared at him silently for a couple of seconds, unable to find her voice, then she asked quietly, "How's Jeannie holding up?"

Steve shook his head. "She doesn't know… she's down in San Diego, remember?"

"You didn't call her?"

"Mel, she was on the bus all day yesterday, and by the time I could've called her last night, Mike was awake and he told me not to… And besides, I don't have her number down there yet…"

"Oh my god, she'll be devastated," Mel whispered, looking down.

"She's not gonna know, Mel, at least not until Mike tells her… because I'm not…"

She looked at him, frowning, opening her mouth to protest but seeming to think better of it. "What happened…?"

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "He, ah, he was following up on a lead on one of our open cases… he, ah, he was in Chinatown and there was this, ah, this grocery store robbery and the guy ran through the back door into an alley. Mike followed him but the guy was long gone…"

She was holding her breath and biting her upper lip, her expression terrified. "Then who shot him…?" she asked quietly.

He stared into her eyes for a long beat. "A rookie cop…"

Her head snapped back and her eyes widened. "What?!"

He nodded slowly with a sad, mirthless smile. "It was dark in the alley… it seems the kid saw his gun and…" He shrugged helplessly.

"Oh my god," she said again, her voice choking. She pulled him closer, putting her arms around him. "Oh, Steve, I'm so sorry," she whispered into his ear, starting to rock him slowly.

"I should've been with him, Mel… He shouldn't've been alone… he wouldn't've been shot if I'd been with him…"

She felt him start to shake and she held him tighter. Not long after, she felt his warm tears dripping onto her back. And she began to cry too.

# # # # #

Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked in the dark. She glanced at the clock radio, at the white numbers barely visible in the muted sunrise glow peaking in around the bedroom curtains. It had just clicked over to 6:18. She turned her head; Steve, his eyes open, was staring at the ceiling.

She watched him for several long seconds then slid alongside him and rested her head on his bare shoulder, snaking her arm around his chest. She felt him turn towards her, gently kissing her hair as he slipped his arm under her and pulled her closer.

They lay in silence for several minutes before she turned her head to look at him again. "You said Mike's going to get out of the hospital in a few days, right?"

He nodded.

"So, ah, I have an idea. How about I go over to his place when he gets home and make a special dinner for the three of us? Do you think he'd like that?"

He smiled warmly and squeezed her briefly. "He'd love that… but I don't want him going home alone. I want him to come to my place."

She pulled away from him slightly. "But wouldn't he feel more comfortable in his own home?"

"He's always stayed with me before…" he shrugged, and she could feel the guilt that still emanated from him.

"But, Steve, let's be practical here, right? You said yourself you have a lot of open cases and you're practically living at the office right now. He'll be alone most of the time anyway, so he'll probably be more comfortable in his own house, won't he?"

He was silent for several long seconds, staring at the ceiling. Then he sighed heavily. "Yeah, you're right." He chuckled, surprising her. "And I have a feeling that'll be his argument too…"

With a soft laugh and a smile, she laid her head against his shoulder again. "Then it's a done deal. I'm gonna make him the best meal he's ever had in his life."

He pulled far enough away so he could look into her face and smile, eyebrows raised. "That's a pretty tall order…" he chuckled again.

She swatted at him playfully. "What? You don't think I'm up to it?"

Laughing, he pulled her close again. "Me? Think that? Never!"

Giggling, she pulled herself up and kissed him lightly. "Listen, eh, let's take a shower and then you can get out of here. And I want you to give him my love when you go see him before you get into work, you hear?"

He looked at her and smiled. "Yeah… I will."

# # # # #

Visiting hours didn't start until 9; Steve Keller stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor at 8:13. He figured if his badge had gotten him in so late the night before, it would get him in early this morning just as easily. And besides, he thought, Mike was always an early riser.

Quietly, he pushed the door open without knocking, figuring that if Mike was still asleep, he could easily back out without rousing him. But he didn't have to; his partner was looking at the door and smiling.

"You're late," he said dryly, his voice surprisingly strong.

Steve took a half step back and shook his head sharply with a deep chuckle. "What do you mean I'm late?"

Laughing softly, Mike watched the grinning young man approach the bed. "I was expecting you at 8 sharp."

"Ah, you were, were ya? Sorry I disappointed you." He stopped beside the bed. "How are you feeling? You look better today."

"I feel better," the older man nodded, then tilted his head with a facial shrug. "Not a hundred percent yet but, you know… I'm getting there…"

Steve smiled warmly. "So, ah," he began, grabbing the stool and pulling it closer to the bed, "you ready for some good news?"

Mike's eyes widened. "You got some more good news?" On his partner's eyebrows raised vigorous nod, he beckoned with his right fingers. "Come on, come on, spill!"

"Well, Bill thinks he might have identified Lennie, and –"

"So soon?"

"Well, it's tentative but we might be able to confirm it this morning. He had the bright idea of contacting the elementary schools in town and seeing if the description of Lennie rang any bells. Seems it did, so we're going to follow up on that. Oh, and, ah, Dorothy came in yesterday and came up with a pretty amazing sketch, so we'll be circulating that as well."

"Good for Bill…"

"Yeah, so, ah, so my day is going to be busy. They gonna get you up and walking today?"

Mike tilted his head. "That's the plan."

"Think you're up for it?"

"Oh, yeah, no problem." Mike looked down, his smile disappearing. "Listen, ah, Barry Schiff came to see me last night," he said quietly, slowly looking up again.

Steve stiffened. "So you knew it was his rookie Adams that shot you?"

Mike shrugged lightly. "I figured it out." He met the younger man's almost accusatory stare evenly. "I was wondering why you didn't want to tell me when I asked."

Steve glanced away briefly and snorted softly. "I didn't think you were ready to hear it."

There was a brief silence then Mike said equally quietly, "And you were probably right…"

Steve nodded, swallowing heavily. "So, ah, so what did Sergeant Schiff have to say?" He hadn't had a chance to speak to the training sergeant yet and he felt a flush of anger that that the man had approached Mike directly. He tried to keep the tension out of his voice but Mike knew him too well.

Choosing to ignore it, his partner said quietly, "Well, he, ah, he told me about Adams…"

"What about him?" Steve's cadence was still clipped.

Mike looked at him silently for a few beats then said expressionlessly, "I'll let Barry tell you about him… but I wanted you to know that I'm going to request that no charges be brought against him."

Steve's eyebrows rose sharply. "No charges? Mike…? He almost killed you and he almost shot me –"

"Because he was a scared kid put in a situation way over his head!" Mike's voice overrode him, the blue eyes boring into him unblinkingly. Neither said anything for a couple of long seconds then the older man continued softly, "And because that could've been any one of us when we were rookies… 'There, but for the grace of God', right…?'"

Steve, who was breathing heavily through his nose, snorted dryly and dropped his head. Mike watched as he took a deep breath then look up again, a small smile curling his lips. "I think you're wrong," he said simply, "but it's your call…" He stared at his partner and shook his head slowly, starting to chuckle dryly, then he raised his left wrist and looked at his watch. "Listen, ah, I gotta go… Bill and I have all those schools to call…"

Mike nodded, smiling affectionately.

"So listen, ah, you have a good day, and go for that walk, okay? And, ah, I'll see you later tonight, all right?"

The older man's smile grew wider. "Sure."

Steve walked to the door, turning back as he opened it. He looked at Mike for a long second before he said with a soft smile, "Oh, ah, Mel says to give you her love…" He closed the door before Mike was able to respond.

# # # # #

He was staring at the ceiling, the latest edition of Time magazine that Steve had brought him yesterday lying open but now ignored on his lap. He couldn't stop thinking about what his partner had said to him, that he was wrong about not wanting to press charges against Adams.

But he also couldn't help but put himself in the rookie's shoes. He had gone through something similar, but far less consequential, when he had been a rookie and it was an incident in his life that he hadn't told anyone, not even his beloved wife. But it had come back now, as fresh and raw as the day it happened.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He _could _understand, he thought almost bitterly, and he_ did_ understand. The pressure he had felt so many years ago to become a police officer, to make his family proud, to fill his dead brother's shoes had been overwhelming, but he had survived and succeeded, even moreso than he had hoped. But he could understand Steve's objection as well, and he hoped in time his partner would come around.

There was something else troubling the young inspector, he knew, something that he was reluctant to talk about at the moment. Mike was pretty sure he knew what it was, but it had to be Steve who would broach it first.

He hung his head and sighed in frustration because he knew, if Steve didn't talk to him soon, the unspoken issue could become a wall between them that might never be breeched.


	23. Chapter 23

It actually turned out that three elementary schools and two middle schools had students that matched the description of Lennie. A somewhat miffed Inspector Bill Tanner glared across the seat of the moss green Galaxie at the smug driver, who kept glancing over and chuckling.

"For the record," the black detective said with a sharp nod, "I still think Charles Arthur Cambridge is our guy."

"I hear ya, I hear ya," Steve smirked, "and my little, ah, offer is still on… lunch is on me if your hunch turns out to be right. But the odds just got a little worse, my man… one in five now, only one in five."

They were pulling up in front of the Alvarado Elementary School on Douglass in The City's Noe Valley district, their first stop of the day. Both detectives glanced up at the large two-storey light blue building.

"Which one is this again?" Steve asked as they climbed out of the car.

Tanner, who was carrying the file folder, glanced at the label. "Brian Jacobs."

# # # # #

"One in four, now, one in four. My odds are getting better," Tanner chuckled as he slammed the door, tossing the file on the floor at his feet and picking up the top one on the small stack on the seat beside him.

"Next?" Steve asked, his sunglasses on and tie loosened. The heat they had been expecting to return had only lasted a couple of days and things had returned to normal in the City by the Bay.

Tannier flipped the file open. "Ah, Marina Middle School… ah, Fillmore near Chestnut..."

Steve pulled the sedan away from the curb. "That's, ah, that's Charles Cambridge's alma mater, isn't it?" he asked, sounding innocent.

Tanner was buying none of it. He cleared his throat. "Yes… yes, it is."

Chuckling, Mike's partner pulled the Galaxie into a tight U-turn, heading north.

# # # # #

"Oh, my, he does look familiar," the middle-aged school secretary murmured as she stared at the police sketch through her tortoiseshell cat-eye glasses. Tanner glanced at Steve over her head with a smug smirk. The slightly younger man rolled his eyes as he imperceptibly shook his head. Tanner covered his laugh with a gentle cough. "I've been here for almost thirty years… that's a lot of students… I don't remember them all, of course," she chuckled as if in apology, "but some of them stand out… for different reasons…"

"So, Mrs. Reynolds, do you think he may have been a student here?" Steve asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Continuing to stare at the drawing, she moved away from the counter to a nearby bookcase; they could see it was filled with files and storage boxes. "We don't have yearbooks of course," she said softly as her eyes scanned the shelves. She glanced over her shoulder at the handsome young cops and smiled warmly. "Not like the high schools do, of course… but we do have class photos…"

She turned back to her examination of the shelves. After several seconds, her shoulders rose quickly and she almost yelped as she reached for a box and pulled it from the shelf, carrying it to the counter. She opened the top and took out a stack of file folders, which she laid on the counter and started to rifle through. She pulled one free from the others with an almost anxious smile.

Moving a couple of feet over to an uncluttered area of the counter, she put the folder down and opened it. There was a stack of 8x10 black and white photographs inside; the cops could see they were class photos. She flipped through them quickly then slid one out from the middle of the pack.

She stared at it for a couple of seconds then turned it around so they could see it. She pointed at a tall, heavyset young man standing at the back of the three rows of smiling students. At the bottom of the photo, in thick black ink, was written _'Miss Parker's Grade 7, April 22, 1959'._

After both detectives had acknowledged the image, she turned the photo over; there was a piece of white paper scotch-taped to the back. On the white paper was a list of the students pictured in the photo and where they were standing. "Charles Cambridge," she read triumphantly, looking up at them and smiling.

Beside him, Steve could see his partner trying his best to rein in the smile that was threatening to overwhelm his professional composure. Clearing his throat, he asked, "What do you remember about him?"

Mrs. Reynolds' smile turned melancholic. "Oh, poor Charlie was a special case." She glanced down at the class photo. "He was 13 when that was taken, a year older than the other kids. He'd been held back a year. He was… well, Charlie was a special boy. He was retarded, of course, but not badly, but he wasn't diagnosed properly and they kept him in with the… normal kids," she shuddered at having to use the term, "a lot longer than he should've been. He just couldn't keep up…" She looked up at them and smiled sadly. "That was his last year… he never came back for Grade 8."

"Was he ever violent?" Tanner asked gently.

Her head came up sharply. "Charlie?" She shook her head with an almost affronted snort. "No… no, Charlie was never violent. As a matter of fact, he was an incredibly gentle boy, especially for his size. He loved animals and I remember he loved the little kids… I know he wasn't happy when he had to leave elementary school to come here… he missed the little kids…" She fell silent, her thoughts obviously now well in the past.

Suddenly she looked up at them again and her brow furrowed. "Why all this interest in Charlie all of a sudden… if I may ask?"

"Oh, ah," Tanner said quickly, "he's a possible witness to an incident that happened a few days ago and we just want to talk to him."

She stared at him for a few seconds, as if trying to gauge his honesty, then smiled. "Oh, that's good… I'd hate to think that Charlie would do something really bad... he just didn't strike me as that kind of a boy…" Her soft laugh was ironic. "I mean, a man now, I guess…"

Steve nodded. "Ah, would you have the last address you have for him still on file?"

She smiled at him. "I'll go check."

# # # # #

Steve glanced across the front seat. Tanner, a self-satisfied smile pasted across his face, was staring straight ahead.

Exhaling loudly, Steve started to chuckle. "All right, all right, I'll say it… You were right. Satisfied?"

Laughing, Tanner looked at him and grinned. "Yes, thank you… and I've been thinking about where I'd like to go for lunch too..."

"Yeah, yeah, but remember – I don't make any more money than you do, so be kind, okay?"

Chuckling, Tanner looked down at the photocopy on his lap. They were on their way to the address that Mrs. Reynolds had given them, but neither of them expecting Charlie Cambridge or any members of his family to still be residing there. "So what do you think?" he asked softly.

Steve glanced at the photo. "You mean about what she said?"

"Yeah."

He shrugged. "Well, I think the ladies were onto something when they called him 'Lennie', don't you? The big gentle giant that finds himself in a situation he can't handle… and ends up handling it in exactly the wrong way…" He took a deep breath. "Let's just hope we get to him before something else happens… because like Mike said, he gonna be confused and scared… and dangerous…"

# # # # #

"So, did you go for a walk?" Steve asked as he stepped into the brightly lit hospital room.

Mike, wearing a hospital robe over the gown under the covers of the raised bed, smiled and nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice sounding a little strained as he brought his left hand up to cover the wound in his chest.

Frowning, Steve moved closer to the bed. "You okay?"

The older man managed a slight nod, grimacing. "They're gonna keep me here a couple more days. Turns out my, ah, my lung and heart are slightly bruised from the… the shock wave, they call it, from the bullet, and the walk… well, it was kinda painful so they want me to stay in bed for a little while longer while everything heals some more." His voice sounded strained.

Alarmed, Steve reached out and laid a hand on his partner's forearm. "Is it serious?"

Trying not to grimace, Mike smiled and shook his head. "No. No, they told me it's to be expected and not to worry… I just need a little more time."

Steve raised his eyebrows skeptically.

Mike sighed. "I'm not holding anything back… that's exactly what they told me. Okay? You can go ask the doctor yourself if you want to." He held the younger man's accusatory stare for several long seconds then Steve exhaled loudly and lifted his hand. He glanced behind himself for the stool and pulled it closer to the bed. Smiling, Mike asked, "So did you get anywhere in finding Lennie today?"

After one more concerned glare, Steve sat. "As a matter of fact, we did. We still haven't found him yet, but we now know his name and we have an old address on him that we're trying to get updated. But, you know, bureaucracy…"

Mike snorted in agreement. "So, ah, what is his real name?"

Steve took a deep breath and let it out loudly. "Charles Cambridge," he said almost pedantically.

Mike's brow furrowed and he cocked his head. A small smile emerged. "Am I to take it from your tone that Bill was right about this I.D.?" he asked pointedly.

The younger man sucked on his teeth before nodding. "Yes," he agreed slowly.

Mike's smile got a little wider. "And am I to also infer from your, um… reluctance to admit that that you may have had some kind of bet on this…?"

Steve inhaled deeply, trying not to smirk. "Yes, you _infer _correctly."

Starting to chuckle, Mike grinned. "So what do you owe him?"

Steve leaned forward and shook his head. "Lunch."

Mike snorted. "Lunch? Is that all?"

"Well, I guess it depends where he wants to go, doesn't it?"

Shrugging, the older man nodded. "I guess." He looked at Steve and smiled evilly. "I could give him some suggestions –"

"Don't you dare!" Steve almost roared and his partner laughed, then grabbed his chest, wincing but still continuing to chuckle. "You okay?"

Mike nodded, smiling. "Yeah… it's worth it, believe me…" Finally sobering, he said, "So tell me what you know so far about our Mr. Cambridge?" he asked, lying back and keeping his hand on his chest.

Still staring worriedly, Steve straightened up. "Well, according to the school secretary, he was a real sweetheart of a guy that the other kids picked on because – and you were right about that – because of his size and because he was slow. But he was never violent. He was an only child and, from what she said, he was well-loved.

"Like I said, we got his address but it's from about fifteen years ago – oh, he's twenty-eight by the way so I guess he looks older than he is. Anyway, ah, his family doesn't live there anymore. They moved about thirteen, fourteen years ago and nobody knows where they are. Bill's checking to see if he can find out."

"And nobody's seen him in the past few days?"

"Not since the murder. There's a chance he's left town but –"

Mike was shaking his head. "No… no, he won't leave town. He won't even think about it. His whole life has been spent in The City and he knows he'd be lost, in every sense of that word, if he left… He's still here…"

Steve was nodding. "I agree. Anyway, that's where things stand at the moment. Not much but it's a little step anyway..."

"No no no, it's a big step, believe me. It reinforces everything Dorothy told you, about him not being aggressive, and that his killing Petrou was his reaction to a situation he knew he had to… fix, for lack of a better word. He was protecting his friend…"

"Yeah…"

There was a soft knock on the door and both men turned as it opened slightly and a nurse poked her head in. "Inspector Keller?"

"Yes?"

"There's a phone call for you."

"Thank you, I'll be right there." He looked at Mike and raised his eyebrows. "I'll be right back."

He followed the nurse to the station and the phone, whose receiver was lying on the counter. He picked it up. "Inspector Keller."

"_Steve, it's Bill. Just got a call from Dorothy. She knows where Lennie is – she's with him right now."_


	24. Chapter 24

Steve pushed the door open and met Mike's expectant stare. "That was Bill – Dorothy's with Lennie right now."

"Go – go!" The older man encouraged, waving him away with his right hand. "But remember what I told you… and be careful!"

'Right." Steve stepped back into the corridor and let the door close behind him.

Mike leaned back against the pillows and squeezed his eyes closed in frustration. "Damn!" he hissed quietly, his left hand over the wound in his chest.

# # # # #

The moss green Galaxie was speeding up Grant, cherry flashing but no siren. Steve glanced across the front seat. "So he just walked in on her?"

"Yeah," Tanner nodded, "she said she was just tidying up – you know at the apartment they rent for their…?"

"Yeah, I know," Steve nodded quickly.

"So anyway, she said he just walked in… She asked him to help her change the sheets on the bed and she went down to the street and found a payphone and gave me a call."

"Did you ask if he looked or was acting any different?"

"I didn't have time but she did say he seemed normal…"

Steve shrugged as he turned the unmarked sedan right onto Green, looking for a place to park. He spotted one on the far side and, with a quick blast of the siren to alert nearby motorists, spun the wheel tightly to the left and slid the Galaxie into a tight U-turn then into the open space. He pocketed the keys as they headed down Grant and turned right onto Kearny, looking for the apartment number.

"Over there." Tanner indicated a beige stucco three-storey building across the street and they stepped off the curb.

Steve pulled his tie from around his neck and stuffed it in his pocket, then took off his jacket. He didn't want to look like a cop, he'd decided, rolling up his sleeves as they approached the apartment building. Tanner did the same.

The black detective opened the apartment door. "Number 4," he said, nodding towards the stairs on their right and they started up.

Number 4 was at the end of a short hallway to their left. After a glance at his colleague, Steve raised his right hand and knocked quietly. Several seconds later the door opened slightly and they could see half of Dorothy's face in the crack.

Blinking slowly, she nodded before opening the door wider. She held up her right forefinger and raised her eyebrows. "One," she mouthed. Steve glanced at Tanner and nodded, handing him his jacket before stepping through the door. She closed it after him.

"He's in there," she said softly, indicating the entrance to a room just to their left. "I told him you were coming and that you're a friend." Steve nodded then waited as she preceded him into the room.

Charles Arthur Cambridge was sitting on the large deep red velvet sofa in the small, exotically decorated living room of the small apartment, looking very much like the man in Dorothy's sketch. And she was right, Steve thought; he did look at least thirty, if not older.

Dorothy smiled warmly at him, gesturing towards her new guest. "Lennie, this is Steve."

The detective stepped towards the couch and held out his right hand, his face alight with an engaging smile. "Hi, Lennie, it's great to meet you," he said with pleasure in his tone as the other man's big mitt engulfed his hand with surprising gentleness and it was vigorously shaken.

"It's nice to meet you, Steve," he replied with an endearing formality and suddenly everything Mike had said made even more sense. He released the smaller man's hand and watched as Steve sat on a nearby armchair; Dorothy sat beside him on the couch.

She touched Cambridge's arm. "Lennie, Steve is the man I told you about… the one who can help you with that… well, with what happened when that… that mean man attacked me…"

Cambridge, who was sitting forward, his clasped hands in his lap, was staring at her under a heavy brow. He was biting his bottom lip and frowning worriedly. He kept glancing between Dorothy and Steve. When she finished talking, he looked at Steve, continuing to chew on the inside of his cheek.

The detective smiled encouragingly, waiting for the big man to start talking or ask him a question. When nothing was forthcoming, he leaned forward slowly. "So, Lennie, ah, what do you want to tell me about that night?"

Cambridge tilted his head and his frown got surprisingly deeper. "Dorothy told me I had to tell you the truth."

Steve glanced at Dorothy before he said softly, "Well, she's right, Lennie. You have to tell me the truth. Will you do that?"

Cambridge stared at him for a few seconds then nodded. He glanced down nervously then said quietly, "My name is not Lennie." He shook his head almost sadly.

"I know," Steve said carefully, "your name is Charles Cambridge. Do they call you Charlie?"

Cambridge, whose eyes had widened slightly when he heard his name, nodded once. "Yeah… yeah… but I don't like Charlie… I like to be called by my other name."

Steve frowned. "Arthur?" he ventured tentatively.

The big man's head snapped back and his laugh was short and sharp. "No," he giggled, as if it was a joke, "not Arthur. That's a dumb name."

Both Dorothy and Steve nodded, smiling. "I think so too," Dorothy offered, and Steve shot her an encouraging glance.

"So what name do you like being called?" Steve asked easily.

Cambridge's smile disappeared and he looked down at the floor, embarrassed; he had idly started scratching the palm of his left hand with his right fingertips. "Promise me you won't laugh?" he asked without looking at either of them.

They shook their heads. "No, of course not," Steve said softly, encouragingly, and Dorothy put a hand on Cambridge's beefy forearm.

The big man looked up at them under a heavy brow, looking sheepish. "I like to be called Hoss."

Steve's smile grew instantly bigger. "Hoss? You mean like… from 'Bonanza', the TV show?"

Cambridge nodded enthusiastically, seemingly overjoyed that Dorothy's friend knew who he meant.

Steve had caught his breath, biting his tongue to try to stop the tears that suddenly threatened. From the corner of his eye he caught Dorothy biting her lips and bringing a hand up quickly to cover her mouth.

"You like Hoss?" Steve asked, trying to keep the trembling out of his voice, instantly and surprisingly drawn to this enormous man-child.

Smiling, Cambridge nodded quickly. "He looks a lot like me… he's a big guy… and he loves animals and little kids and people love him too…"

"Just like people love you… Hoss," Dorothy said softly, trying out the new name.

Cambridge looked at her and his eyebrows rose and his face lit up. "Yeah," he chuckled happily.

Steve leaned forward slightly. "So, ah… Hoss," he began gently and the soft brown eyes turned in his direction, "what, ah, what can you tell me about what happened the night that bad man attacked Dorothy?"

Cambridge's smile slowly melted and his dancing eyes became hooded and scared. Dorothy put her hand once again on his forearm. He stared at Steve for several long silent seconds before he said quietly, "The ladies said he was a bad man, that he would hurt them sometimes… I couldn't let him do that. The ladies are my friends." His eyes slid towards Dorothy and she nodded affirmatively.

"I was afraid for Dorothy… I thought he might hurt her so I followed them. Dorothy didn't lock the door when they got here so I just came in, real quiet, and stood by the door. I…" He shrugged. "I listened…in case he started to hurt her…" He looked at Dorothy and swallowed. "And he did…"

"Okay," Steve said slowly, "so, ah, so what happened… Hoss?"

Cambridge looked at him. "He started to hurt her…. I could hear him hit her, and I heard her cry out… so I came in here and Dorothy was on her knees and he was standing behind her… he was strangling her, she couldn't breathe…" His voice was getting higher and the words coming faster. He looked at her and she squeezed his arm.

"I hit him," he said simply, "I hit him and he fell down and he let go of that… that thing he had around her neck… so I picked it up. He tried to fight me for it but I'm bigger than he is… Then I did to him what he was doing to Dorothy… and then he just stopped moving… and he was dead…" He looked down at the floor, biting his bottom lip. Dorothy could feel him trembling under her hand.

Eventually he looked up at Steve again. He started to shake his head. "I didn't mean to hurt him… I just wanted him to stop hurting Dorothy…" He looked at her then back at Steve. "I'm sorry…" he said softly, dropping his head. His entire body shook as he started to cry.

Steve looked at Dorothy and raised his eyebrows. He waited several beats before saying softly, "Um, Hoss…" Cambridge raised his head; there was a look of fear and trepidation in his moist eyes. Steve smiled encouragingly. "Hoss, you know you have talk to the police about what you've done… right?"

Cambridge nodded slowly.

"Okay," Steve said gently, starting to get to his feet. Dorothy did the same. "I'd like you to come with me, is that all right, Hoss?"

Still sitting on the couch, Cambridge looked from Steve to Dorothy and back again. "Are you a policeman?" he asked, sounding very much like a scared little boy.

Steve nodded warmly.

"Okay," the big man whispered, planting both big fists on the couch to push himself to his feet.

Dorothy slipped her hands around his upper arm. "I'll come with you too, Hoss, if that's okay with you?" She glanced at Steve, who nodded almost imperceptibly, before focusing her dark brown eyes on the man who had saved her life.

# # # # #

"So you got him downtown without any trouble?" Mike put his plastic fork down on the empty paper plate on the overbed table and sat back, his left hand over the wound in his chest.

Steve frowned. "You sure you're all right?"

His partner smiled comfortingly. "I told you, I'm fine. Just a bit of residual discomfort from that walk I took this morning."

It was after 9 pm when Steve and Tanner finished taking Cambridge downtown, gotten him booked and then into a holding cell. Steve had called the hospital and asked if it was okay if he brought Mike some dessert and was given the okay, so he stopped by Schubert's Bakery on Clement and picked up two large slices of their famous Swedish Princess Cake.

Still frowning, Steve put his empty paper plate and plastic fork on the bedside table. "Yeah, ah, he went without any trouble at all… he was scared and he was confused but he wasn't dangerous, thank god. I actually felt sorry for him. He didn't kill Petrou because he meant to, it was an accident, he said… and I believe him…"

Mike studied his partner's downturned head. It was obvious Cambridge had had a profound, and very positive, affect on the younger man. "So what happens next?"

Steve looked up. "Next…?" He shrugged. "Next I guess I talk to Gerry in the morning and see what he thinks but I'm going to lobby to get him off with probation." He met Mike's expressionless stare evenly. "Do you think I'm wrong?"

The older man started to shake his head before he smiled almost wistfully. "Not at all." He chuckled dryly. "Looks like both of us are in a forgiving mood this week, wouldn't you say?"

Chuckling warmly, Steve got to his feet, picking up his plate and fork and reaching for Mike's. "Yeah, well, I still think you're wrong but I won't argue with you."

"Yeah, 'cause you know you wouldn't win," Mike grinned as he watched his partner put the plates and forks in the garbage. "Thanks for bringing that by… it really hit the spot."

Steve stood over the bed silently for a couple of seconds before saying, "You sure you're okay?"

"Absolutely. Just did too much too soon."

"Yeah." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "So they're going to keep you for the weekend now?"

"Yeah. Earliest I get out'll be Monday."

Steve nodded soberly. "Just so you get out, right?" he said with an almost sad smile. "Listen, ah, Jeannie's gonna get suspicious if you don't –"

"Oh damn," Mike said quickly, cutting him off. "I totally forgot. Can you do me a favor and stop by my place first thing tomorrow and see if she's left a message on my answering machine with her new phone number? That way I can give her a call from here and then she won't get suspicious…"

Steve was nodding. "Yeah, sure, of course." He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair he'd been sitting in and started for the door.

"Hey," Mike's voice stopped him and he turned. "Look, ah, I want you to know that what you did today…? Well, I think what you did today was some of the finest policing I've ever seen…" He swallowed heavily. "I'm very proud of you."

Steve stared at his partner, feeling his throat tightening and the sharp sting of tears in his eyes. He blinked quickly several times then nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said softly as he quickly stepped through the door and out into the hallway.

e


	25. Chapter 25

_He approached the white van cautiously; it was extremely dark in the alley, and with the contrasting glare from the wall of bright sunlight hitting the sidewalk just feet away, he really couldn't see much till he was almost on top of it. Standing beside the back wheel, he crouched quickly and peered underneath the battered vehicle; there was nothing. Getting up, he moved swiftly to the back doors of the van and looked through the small windows; it was empty. So was the front seat. _

_With a heavy sigh, knowing the gunman had gotten away cleanly, he turned around and started back up the alley towards the grocery store's back door. He would leave the investigation of the potential robbery to the uniforms, he thought with a silent chuckle, it really wasn't his problem anyway._

_He reached back with his right hand to slip the .38 into the holster on his right hip, using the grip of the gun to flip the jacket flap away from his side. He had just stepped into a blinding shaft of sunlight when he heard the fear-laced, drawn-out shout of 'Gun!'._

_The 9.5 gram lead bullet tore into his chest at 900 feet per second, knocking him backwards off his feet before he was even aware he had been hit. Everything went into slow motion as he felt himself falling, eerily calm in the knowledge that he would probably be dead before his body hit the ground…_

Mike woke with a start, gasping and grabbing at his chest with his left hand. He stared at the dark ceiling above him, panting as he tried to get the pain under control.

Breathing rapidly through his open mouth, he finally managed to get his heart and his breathing to slow, and the pain in his chest subsided. Swallowing heavily, he continued to stare at the ceiling.

This was the second day in a row the same nightmare had woken him. He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip, keeping his left hand protectively over the healing wound. He reached up with his right hand and brushed the moisture from his eyes.

It was over an hour before he could fall asleep again.

# # # # #

"Yeah, so they're not letting him out till Monday at the earliest, so we're gonna have to postpone our 'special dinner' for him till next week sometime. Do you have your schedule yet?"

"No, not yet. Tomorrow." Mel said softly, the disappointment evident in her words. "Damn. Are you sure he's really okay?"

"Yeah, he is," Steve assured her, "or he's gonna be. I did talk to one of the doctors and he confirmed what Mike told me."

"What? You think he'd lie to you about his health?"

"Not intentionally. Well, I mean, yes, intentionally, but just so I wouldn't worry, that's all. You know…"

She snickered. "Sounds like my father. Anyway, as soon as I get my schedule, I'll let you know and we can start planning. So, ah, when am I going to see you again, stranger?" she purred seductively and he chuckled.

"Well, one of our cases is almost cleared but I still have two I'm working on and – hey, it's you that's got the busier schedule right now, not me," he laughed accusatorially and heard her laughter wafting over the phone line.

"Rats, I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up. I have tomorrow night off, remember? Think you can spring yourself for a little R&R?"

"You betcha," he growled with pleasure as he glanced up to see Devitt exiting Mike's office and approaching his desk. "Ah, listen, ah, I gotta go. I'll call you later."

"Okay cool. Give my love to Mike –" he heard her say quickly as he hung up, looking up at the captain.

Devitt raised his eyebrows and smiled suggestively, glancing at the phone. "The girlfriend?"

Smiling sheepishly, Steve nodded. "Yeah."

"Good for you," Devitt said quickly as he sat on the corner of the desk, hefting the paper he held in his hand. "Listen, ah, just finished your report on the Petrou case. That was a hell of a job you did yesterday with that Cambridge fella, getting him to come in without a fuss."

Steve had sat back in his chair, playing idly with a pencil on his desk. "He's doesn't have a mean bone in his body, Roy… and he was just helping a friend…"

"Yeah, I get that. So, ah, what time do you go to the D.A.'s office this morning?"

Steve glanced at his watch. "A half hour."

"You think Gerry will go along with probation?"

"Well, if I can be half as persuasive as Mike can be, I think I have a chance."

Laughing, Devitt got to his feet. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you're right. Prison would not be a good thing for this guy. Good luck."

# # # # #

"I didn't expect you to be here," Steve said with a confused but pleased smile as he stepped into the small outer office in the SFDA building on Brannan.

"I got a call from Mr. O'Brien's secretary this morning," Dorothy said, getting to her feet and nodding at the woman behind the desk, who returned the acknowledgement, "asking me if I'd like to come in to discuss Hoss's – um, Charlie Cambridge's case. I couldn't say no."

"Well, I'm glad you're here." Steve turned to the desk. "Hi, Susan."

The older woman smiled at the young man over her glasses. "Hi, Steve. Listen, he's on time for a change; he should be ready for you in just a couple of minutes. Why don't you have a seat?"

"Thanks." He gestured for Dorothy to sit again and he slid into the heavy leather chair beside her. "This shouldn't take too long."

Dorothy leaned towards him and he moved closer. She lowered her head conspiratorially. "I talked to most of the other girls last night, and they all told me that if Lennie, I mean Hoss," she corrected herself with a warm smile, "is going to be charged, then they are all going to go down to City Hall and walk a picket line. I think that would get a lot of attention, don't you?" she chuckled.

Steve's eyebrows rose. "Ah, yeah… yeah, I think it would," he laughed softly, "but I don't think that's going to be necessary."

She sat back, grinning. "Good. Although, you know, it wouldn't be so out of character for The City, would it, if a whole bunch of transvestites picketed City Hall?"

Steve joined in her laughter as he sat back as well, crossing his legs and straightening his tie. A comfortable silence had settled over the room when the heavy wooden door to the inner office opened.

The homicide inspector glanced up, starting slightly when he recognized the first man out of the room, a PBA lawyer. His eyes snapped quickly to the somber-faced young man following close behind and he caught his breath: Adams.

Scrambling to his feet, Steve took a quick, almost angry step towards the men gathered at the open door. The lawyer, Perino, glanced towards him, surprised. Gerry O'Brien, standing behind Adams, stared at the young detective, scowling. "Steve," he said quietly in a calm warning.

The disgraced ex-cop looked up, straight into Steve's face, but if he recognized the man he had almost shot in The Armory, he showed no sign.

No one moved for a long second then O'Brien cleared his throat. "So, John," he said, turning his attention to the lawyer, "I'll wait to get that statement from you and then we'll proceed as we discussed."

Perino, who was watching the silent confrontation between the homicide detective and his client with growing concern, turned to the ADA and nodded. "Ah, yeah, Gerry, that sounds great. Thank you." He looked at his client, who hadn't moved, then took his elbow. "Chad." Starting to lead the young man away, he turned back to Steve with a nod, "Inspector."

Steve began to take a step after them but stopped when he felt O'Brien's hand on his arm. "Not the time, Steve," the attorney said gently.

Watching the lawyer and the ex-cop leave the office, Steve glanced at O'Brien, holding his gaze for a long second before he shook his head and pulled his arm from the ADA's grasp.

O'Brien nodded into his office. "Come on," he said softly, stepping back into the room.

Steve looked at Dorothy, who had been watching the little scene with a worried frown. She got up and crossed to him, tilting her head questioningly. He smiled mirthlessly. "That, ah, that's the guy that shot my partner…" he said simply.

She frowned. "What? He shot Inspector Tanner?"

Steve snorted quietly, shaking his head. "No, ah, Bill's not my partner. He's, ah… my partner's name is Mike and he's in the hospital right now."

"Is he going to be all right?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, he's gonna be fine. I'll tell you all about it when we finish here." He took her by the elbow and they entered O'Brien's office together.

# # # # #

"Oh, thank you for this," Mike said with a grin as he took the piece of paper from Steve's hand and looked at it. "So how many messages were on my machine?"

"Three," the younger man answered with a chuckle as he dragged the chair closer to the bed and dropped his jacket over the back before sitting. "All of them getting progressively more concerned, I have to tell you, so you better call her tonight."

"I will," Mike said with a low growl, putting the paper on the side table under his glasses.

"I half-expected to find a message on my machine. I think she's working herself up to it."

They shared a laugh. "I'll call her tonight," the older man chuckled. "So, ah, what happened with Gerry this morning?"

"Well, I had back-up when I went in to see him –"

"Back-up?"

Steve nodded, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, Dorothy showed up." Mike's brow furrowed in surprise. "Yeah, she said Gerry's secretary gave her a call, said he wanted to see her as well. So she came down."

Mike chuckled to himself, looking away slightly. "Well, good for him." He looked back at his partner. "So Cambridge is getting probation?"

"Unh-humh," Steve nodded again, "five years. But I don't think we have to worry about him… he's not gonna do anything like that again."

Mike was nodding slowly. "You know, I'd like to meet him when I get outa here."

Steve chuckled. "I think I can arrange that. Oh, ah, there's someone else that'd like to meet you too." On Mike's raised eyebrows, he continued, "Dorothy. I, ah, I kinda had to tell her about you today…"

"You _had_ too?"

Steve leaned forward and looked down, swallowing. "Adams and his PBA lawyer were leaving Gerry's office when we got there."

Mike stared at him silently for a couple of long seconds. "Did you talk to him?"

Steve looked up and shook his head. "No, it, ah… it wasn't the time… or the place… But I will, believe me, I will."

"Steve…"

"Don't worry, I won't tear him limb from limb, like I want to. I'll try to take a page out of your book… and forgive him…"

Mike looked down at the bed, smiling self-consciously. "Well, don't take too many pages out of my book or there won't be anything left… at least nothing left that I can teach you…"

Steve chuckled gently. "That's never gonna happen…"

The blue eyes slid slowly in his direction, the self-conscious smile lingering. He cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, have you been able to see Mel recently?"

Steve smiled warmly, knowing the older man was deliberately trying to change the subject. "Ah, not since the other night, but she has tomorrow off so we're gonna try to get together." He paused for a second then cleared his throat slightly. "Uh, she has an idea and I'd like to run it past you."

"Sure, shoot."

"Well, after you get home, she'd like to come over and cook one of her gourmet meals… for, ah, for the three of us. What'd'ya think?"

"What do I think?" Mike grinned, starting to laugh. "What do you think I think? I think it's a terrific idea."

Steve smiled, chuckling. "Great, I'll tell her. She'll be thrilled. So, ah, so you think they're still gonna let you out on Monday?"

Mike tilted his head and shrugged. "I don't know… I hope so."

The younger man frowned. "What? Is something wrong?"

"No no no," Mike assured him quickly, "there's nothing wrong. It's just they haven't said anything to me… so I don't know, that's all."

Steve nodded but he was no longer smiling. "Ah, listen, uh, I'm gonna get outa here, get back to the Hall. I'll, ah, I'll grab something for us for dinner, okay, and be back later."

"Steve, don't think you have to be here all the time, okay? You've got things to do –"

"No, I want to be… Mike… I really do." He got up slowly and walked to the door. As he opened it he looked back. "I'll surprise you, okay?"

Mike smiled affectionately. "You always do."

With a sober nod, Steve stepped into the corridor and let the door close quietly behind him.


	26. Chapter 26

**I want to thank everyone who continues to read, and review, and support this site -**

**especially today, which would have been KM's 107th birthday.**

Steve threw his pen onto the desk with a frustrated sigh. Tanner looked up at him and smiled. "Nothing?" he asked with a soft chuckle.

Steve rubbed his hands vigorously over his face, as if trying to wake himself up. He growled comically. "Jeez, I've seen molasses that moved faster than this case."

They were working on the Goodman murder. Healey and Haseejian, who had suddenly become available after putting their own cases to bed, had taken over the Macklinberg stabbing but it seemed they weren't getting anywhere with that investigation either.

He and Tanner were tackling the long list of Carlton Hotel employees, both current and recently released, trying to find anyone with a checkered past who might have had anything to do with the beating death. But they were still hampered by the fact that they had yet to positively identify the murder victim, whose fingerprints were in no-one's database anywhere it seemed.

"I need a break," Steve groaned, getting to his feet and grabbing the jacket from the back of his chair. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a little while."

He shrugged into the jacket as he stepped out into the crowded corridor, heading for the elevators. He had every intention of getting out into the bright summer sunshine and clearing his head but as he was about to press the Down button, he changed his mind and headed for the stairs.

# # # # #

Captain Rudy Olsen glanced up at the door when he heard the sharp knock. "Come in," he growled.

Steve Keller opened the door and almost charged into the room. "Rudy, I need to talk to you," he began quickly without preamble.

The senior officer let the report his was reading drop softly to the desk, his expression remaining neutral. "Hello, Inspector, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked calmly and pointedly with slightly raised eyebrows.

Realizing he was being subtly chastised, Steve froze, snapping his mouth shut and staring contritely at his boss's boss. "Sorry, I, ah…" Clearing his throat, he dropped into the guest chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Nodding once in acquiescence, he said softly, "Look, Rudy, I know what I'm about to ask is not… well, is not kosher… but I really want to see Chad Adams."

The captain frowned. "Chad Adams?"

"The rookie who shot Mike."

"Oh, yeah, him," Olsen said almost under his breath, clearing his throat and glancing down before looking back up sharply. "How's Mike doing anyway?"

Steve's head went back slightly and he frowned. "They're keeping him in over the weekend but he hopes to get out on Monday."

"That's good, that's good," Olsen said almost absent-mindedly, shuffling some papers on the desk.

After several silent seconds, Steve leaned forward again. "Rudy…" The captain looked up. "Adams…?"

"Oh, ah, jeez, Steve, the kid's been fired… he's not a part of the… the 'family' anymore, if you know what I mean. I can't tell you not to go see him… it's really none of my business…"

"I'm not looking for your permission, Rudy. I just want to know if I can use your clout to get his address from Records."

Olsen frowned. "My clout?" he growled.

Steve tilted his head and shrugged. "I, ah… I have the feeling they might be reluctant to give it to me, all things considered. I thought maybe… well, I thought maybe you could give them a call… for me…"

The captain stared at him without moving.

Steve smiled. "I'm not going to kill him, Rudy," he said with a wry chuckle, "I just want to talk to him. He almost shot me and he almost killed Mike… and I just can't let that go without looking him in the eye, just once, and finding out what was going through his mind when he did both those things…" He glanced down and took a deep breath. "I owe that to Mike at least…"

Olsen cleared his throat. "Well, ah… well, when you put it that way," he began, sounding a little flustered, "ah, give me a little time. I'll, ah, I'll make a call this afternoon and see what I can do… how does that sound?"

Smiling appreciatively, Steve nodded, getting to his feet. "Thanks, Rudy," he said as he opened the door.

"I'll, ah, I'll call you when I… ah…" He gestured vaguely.

"Great. I'll probably still be in the office." With a nod, Steve stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He stood perfectly still for a couple of long seconds, then headed towards the stairs and back up to Homicide.

# # # # #

"Oh my god, is that from Mandarin?" Mike asked, sitting up a little higher in the bed as Steve came through the door with two large white paper bags.

The younger man froze almost imperceptibly as he crossed to the foot of the bed and put the bags on the overbed table. "You can tell where it's from by the smell?"

"No, smart guy," Mike smirked, "the name's on the bag." He chuckled, shaking his head and pointing.

Steve looked at the side of one of the bags. "Oh… right…" He snorted a short laugh.

"Did you get a raise or something? I mean, between having to take Bill out to lunch and now this…" He was watching the younger man unpacking the first bag with a broad grin.

Steve glanced at him and smiled briefly. "It's a treat, for both of us." He laid two thick paper plates, some plastic cutlery and napkins on the table then reached into the second bag for the cartons.

Mike's smile slipped slightly as he studied his partner. He could sense that something was bothering the young man, and was now debating whether to come right out and ask or wait to see if he brought it up himself.

Steve could feel the blue eyes on him and smiled slightly. "So, ah, how are you feeling today?"

The older man's eyebrows rose. "Oh, ah, I went for a short walk this afternoon and I feel a lot better."

"No pain?"

"No pain. So they did mention something about me getting out on Monday if nothing changes… so, fingers crossed, eh?"

Steve had put four cardboard cartons on the small narrow table and was opening them. He smiled. "Great." He glanced at the bed.

"Oh my god," Mike repeated, "that smells incredible."

Chuckling, Steve picked up one of the paper plates and handed it to the older man. "I got all your favourites," he said, pointing to the cartons. "Beef and broccoli, Yang Chow fried rice, General Tsao's chicken and Lo Mein."

Mike snorted with pleasure, turning his surprised and appreciative stare on his partner. "You didn't have to do this, you know?"

"I know," Steve said simply, "but I wanted to." He picked up one of the cartons and started to fork some of the fried rice onto Mike's plate.

"What's this all about?" Mike asked quietly, staring at the young man's expressionless face.

"What's what all about?" Steve continued to fill his partner's plate.

Mike exhaled loudly. "What's going on? I know you've got something on your mind… so do you want to talk about it before or after we eat?"

With a dry chuckle, Steve started to fill his own plate, still not meeting the concerned blue-eyed stare coming from the bed. "What makes you think I've got something on my mind?" he asked casually.

Allowing a dry smile to curl his lips, Mike raised his eyebrows slightly. "Because I can read you like a book and you know it."

Snorting, Steve picked up his plate and sat, putting a forkful of fried rice into his mouth without once glancing at the bed. Swallowing, he finally looked at his partner. "You think you can, hunh?" He paused, continuing to stare with a slight smirk. "So what do you think it is?"

Mike dropped his eyes, chuckling softly as if caught. He picked up the fork and stabbed a piece of the chicken. "Well…" he started slowly, "I think you're feeling guilty about what happened last Monday, when I got shot and you weren't there."

Steve's forkful of Lo Mein stopped halfway to his mouth and his smirk disappeared.

Suddenly feeling guilty, Mike shook his head, looking down at the plate in his lap. "Look, ah, we don't have to talk about that… let's just eat this wonderful food –"

"You're right," Steve interrupted him quietly, dropping his eyes. He nodded as if to himself. "You're right… I should've been with you, and I wasn't… and I am feeling guilty about that…"

Mike watched him silently for a couple of seconds then he said softly, "You don't have to be… it wasn't your fault…"

Steve continued to stare at the floor.

"You said you had car trouble, right? Nobody can predict that kinda thing. It just happens… And I wasn't mad at you that morning, I was worried. Usually when you're gonna be late, you call…" Still getting no response, he continued quietly, "And I wasn't going out, without back-up, to do anything dangerous… I was just going to try to locate Dorothy Garland, just to talk to her… and I didn't need back-up for that," he chuckled softly and was rewarded when the hooded green eyes finally rose to meet his own.

He shrugged. "Maybe Adams wouldn't've shot me if you'd been there… and maybe he would've… We'll never know, right? But I'm still here. It could've been a whole lot worse… so, in the grand scheme of things, Steve, I'm good with everything." He smiled warmly. "But you know what I do need? I need you to stop beating yourself up about it… okay?"

Steve was staring at his partner without expression, listening intently to every word, spoken and unspoken. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and held it. Mike waited, watching. Finally the young man opened his eyes; they were warm and grateful. He sat back in the chair and, very deliberately, crossed his legs. With the fork in his right hand, he gestured at Mike's seemingly forgotten plate. "What – you gonna talk or you gonna eat?"

Mike started slightly, then his face creased into a broad grin. Chuckling and shaking his head, he lifted his fork and stabbed another piece of the General Tsao's chicken. "I'm gonna eat," he laughed as he popped the chicken into his mouth, grinning.

# # # # #

"My god, that was good," Mike patted his stomach as he laid back against the pillows. "I'm stuffed." He was watching the younger man putting the empty cartons and used paper plates and cutlery back into the paper bags. "Thanks again for bringing this."

Steve glanced at the bed. "And, again, you're welcome. I take it you're too full for dessert?"

"You brought dessert?"

Steve chuckled. "Actually, no, but I just wanted to know."

Mike picked up his watch from the bedside table. "Hey, ah, I was just about to give Jeannie a call. Can you stick around for a bit and help me with my… conversation -?"

"Obfuscation?" Steve said at the same time.

Mike pinned him with a look. "Ha ha, very funny…" he said dryly. "What? Do you actually want me telling her what really happened, and then put you on the phone to explain why you didn't call and tell her?"

Steve stared at him without moving for several long seconds. "Okay, you're right," he agreed with low growl and a waggle of his head. "You didn't try calling her earlier today?"

"I did," Mike explained, picking up the phone and putting it on his lap and then putting his glasses on so he could read the number on the piece of paper. "She's sharing a place with two others, or so I gather from the voices and names on the answering machine, so I just left her a message. I told her we'd been very busy… which isn't a total lie, if you think about it… and she knew we had those open cases when she left, so…?" He shrugged. "And I told her I'd call her later tonight."

As Mike started to dial, Steve put the paper bags, now full of garbage, on the floor near the door and returned to the bed, dropping once more into the chair.

Mike had finished dialing and was listening. Suddenly his face lit up. "Jeannie!... Yeah, sweetheart, it's me, finally. Did you get my message?... Good. So, what, are you sharing a place?..." Beaming, he glanced at his partner.

Smiling, Steve leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, watching his best friend talk to his beloved daughter. And for the first time in days, he could feel the weight of the guilt he had been carrying being lifted from his shoulders.


	27. Chapter 27

Mike was still beaming as he hung up. He kept his hand on the receiver in the cradle, staring at the phone; slowly his smile disappeared and his eyes brightened.

Alarmed, Steve got to his feet and stepped closer to the bed. "You okay?" he asked softly and Mike started slightly then looked up, blinking quickly. He nodded self-consciously.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, "yeah, I'm fine."

Smiling warmly, Steve picked the phone up and returned it to the bedtable. He knew the older man was thinking of what might have been, if things had not turned out as they had.

"Ah, thanks, ah… you know… I don't think she's suspicious, do you?"

"No problem… and, no, I don't think she caught on."

Mike shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think she did either…" He smiled wistfully.

Steve cleared his throat loudly. "Listen, ah, there's something I want to tell you," he said softly as he sat back down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

Frowning, Mike eyes followed him down. "Okay…" he said quietly.

"I, ah, I went to see Rudy today," Steve started slowly, looking at the floor. "I asked him if he could get me Chad Adams address…" He looked up into the narrowed and worried blue eyes, and held up his hands. "I know, I know," he continued quickly, "but I want to see him, Mike. I want to talk to him… just talk, I promise."

"Why?"

Meeting the intense stare evenly, Steve took a deep breath. "Because he almost shot me and he almost killed you, and he's walking away with what amounts to a slap on the wrist… and I want to know what was going through his mind - if he even knows - when he almost pulled the trigger on me and when he did pull the trigger on you…"

Mike looked at him without moving for several long seconds then he closed his eyes and nodded. "I understand," he said softly as he opened his eyes and smiled slightly.

Steve nodded slowly then got to his feet. "Ah, listen, ah, I'm gonna get out of here, let you get some sleep. 'Cause I want you out of here on Monday, all right?"

Swallowing heavily, Mike nodded. "Yeah, me too," he said quietly. "Listen, ah, don't bother coming in tomorrow, okay? I can survive a day without a visit – and you gotta see that girl of yours tomorrow night, right?"

Biting his lip, Steve smiled and nodded. "Yeah… okay, but I'll be in on Saturday, all right? Hopefully I can get here in time for the ballgame. Do you think they'll get it here?" he asked, pointing at the tiny black-and-white TV hanging from the ceiling in the far corner.

Mike shrugged with a chuckle. "I don't know, I'll find out. If not we can always listen to it on the radio."

"I'll bring a radio just in case." Steve stared at him silently for a couple of seconds. "You're okay?"

Mike nodded.

"Okay…so I'll see you on Saturday." He picked up the paper bags when he got to the door. "Sleep well," he said quietly as he slipped out into the corridor, letting the door close softly behind him.

Feeling the tears welling up in his eyes, Mike lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. He could feel his heart starting to pound in his chest, the result of a curious mixture, he knew, of love and dread.

# # # # #

He woke suddenly once again, grabbing at his chest and staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling above his head. His entire body was trembling, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as he tried to swallow, tried to stop the shaking, his right hand pressed against the still healing wound while his left twisted the blanket at his side.

His breaths getting deeper and his heart finally slowing, he brought his left hand up to his face and covered his eyes. He lay that way for a long time, breathing raggedly, trying to get the images out of his mind, the images that seemed to haunt him every night now.

It was a lot longer than an hour before he fell into an almost exhausted, but very much needed, sleep.

# # # # #

"Well, we're getting nowhere fast, so I want to take another angle on this," Steve sighed heavily as he slid onto the chair beside Tanner's desk.

The black detective leaned back in his chair, tossing his pen onto the desk as he rocked his head from side to side, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. "What do you have in mind?"

"The fingerprints are getting us nowhere, right? So why don't we try something different?" Mike's partner frowned and shook his head quickly in frustration. "Somebody's gotta be missing him somewhere, right? And we're pretty sure he's not a local, right? So why don't we get that sketch artist back in, have him take a look at Goodman's body down in the morgue and make a sketch of him and then send out facsimile's to all the police departments in the state and see if they have a missing persons report on him? And if that doesn't work, then we go wider… all the neighboring states."

Tanner's eyebrows rose and he nodded sagely. "That might work… hell, it's worth a shot, isn't it?" On Steve's nod, he leaned forward and reached across the desk for his Rolodex. "I'll give that sketch artist a call and see how soon he can get here, and then I'll arrange an 'appointment'," he chuckled, "with the morgue."

Laughing, Steve got to his feet. "Thanks, Bill." He turned back to his desk, surprised to see Captain Olsen standing there, staring in his direction. He approached casually. "Captain," he nodded as he circled to his chair and sat.

Olsen pointed to a folded piece of paper tucked under the phone. Steve glanced at it then back up at the captain.

"You, ah, you didn't get that from me, do you hear me?" Olsen said quietly, then turned away, crossing to Mike's office. He stepped inside as Devitt looked up, surprised to see him, and closed the door.

# # # # #

He opened the door, a broad smile lighting his face.

"Hey, don't just stand there grinning, sexy," Mel purred as she stepped forward and put both hands around the back of his neck to pull him down into a kiss. She pushed him back slightly and nodded over her shoulder. "I've got two heavy bags of groceries in the car." She took his right hand in both of hers and lead him, unresisting, out of the house and down the steps to the Toyota, parked beside his on the far side of the street.

"Good lord, what have you got in here?" Steve asked as he picked up one bag and heard what sounded like pans colliding. "Did you bring your whole kitchen?"

She blew him a raspberry from the other side of the car where she was taking a large paper grocery bag out of the front seat. "Just so you know, I want to make a Crepes Suzette for Mike when we have his 'special dinner' and I want to practice on you tonight. So I brought my crepe pan."

"So I'm a guinea pig tonight, am I?" he asked as he crossed the street with the heavy bag.

"Only for dessert," she announced as she slammed the door. "I'm making a moussaka too."

"Oh ho, Greece and France… wow, we're going to Europe tonight," he laughed as he preceded her up the steps back to his apartment.

# # # # #

Mike took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he dropped them on the Time magazine in his lap. He was having trouble concentrating.

So far he had managed to keep his lack of sleep from the doctors and nurses but he knew that wasn't going to last. For the fourth night in a row he had woken in a panic, reliving those few seconds in the alley over again in terrifyingly slow motion.

He didn't understand it. He had been wounded before, albeit only once worse than this, and that had been a long, long time ago. But he had never experienced nightmares before, ever. He couldn't remember even having one as a child, and he had always been baffled by the nightmares Jeannie had endured for a short time when she was five.

He had tried to sleep during the day yesterday and managed to get a couple of hours here and there, using the excuse that his partner was too busy to visit and he was taking advantage of the solitude. But he had been awake during the night more than he had slept, and the lack of healing rest was hindering his recovery, he knew.

He had considered asking for a sleeping pill, but that would have given his secret away. Sighing heavily, he put his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes, hoping to be able to get a couple of hours sleep before Steve came by to watch the ballgame with him.

# # # # #

"You working tonight?" He asked from the bed, watching her as she picked up her sundress from the back of the chair near the door and slipped it on over her bra and panties.

"Yes… remember? I work tonight and tomorrow but I have Monday and Tuesday nights off…" She glanced at him as she bent down to look for her shoes under the bed. "So if Mike does get out on Monday, we can do dinner for him on Tuesday, right?"

He frowned. "He'll get out. He's doing a lot better."

If she heard the slight hesitation in his tone, she didn't show it as she stood up triumphantly, her shoes in her hands. "Great, 'cause that gives me two whole days to find just the right ingredients."

"So you know what you're going to cook? I mean, other than crepes for dessert?"

"Well, no," she said pedantically, putting on her shoes, "but I still have time to figure it out. Don't rush me," she chuckled.

He started to push himself up. She put up a hand. "No no no, don't move." He dropped back onto the bed, smiling. She tilted her head. "I'm sorry I totally forgot I was meeting Janet and Sandy for brunch. Are you coming back here after watching the game with Mike?"

He nodded. "Umh-hunh."

"Great," she said breathlessly, picking up her earrings from the nightstand and putting them on, "leave the dishes and I'll help you with them tonight. And we'll figure out something to eat – or maybe even order take-out for a change!"

She knelt on the bed and leaned over him, planting a deep sensual kiss on his more than eager lips before straightening up, grabbing her purse and almost jogging out of the room. "Give my love to Mike!" he heard her shout just before the front door slammed.

He let his head fall back on the pillow and he grinned at the ceiling for several long moments. He closed his eyes, the smile lingering. Suddenly his eyes shot wide and he scrambled to his feet. He bolted into the living room and picked up his jacket from the back of the couch, rifling through the pockets. He pulled a small piece of paper out and stared at it for a long second. Then he dropped the jacket and rushed back into the bedroom.

# # # # #

Steve knocked on the white wooden door of the modest single storey home on Accacia Street in the Bayshore Heights district of Daly City. It was south of San Francisco, just over The City limits, and with the light Saturday morning traffic it had been an easy drive. He glanced at his watch as he waited; he still had lots of time.

A handsome middle-aged, dark-haired woman opened the door, frowning as her eyes fell on the young man standing on her stoop. "Yes?" she said almost coldly.

Smiling behind the dark glasses, Steve nodded once, politely, before inquiring, "Mrs. Adams?

"Yes."

He took off his glasses and cleared his throat lightly. "Ah, Mrs. Adams, my name is Steve Keller. I, ah, I was wondering if I might be able to see your son Chad?"

"What about?" She was keeping the door half-closed, as if shielding the interior of the house from his prying eyes.

Steve smiled briefly and glanced away. "Mrs. Adams, I'm a police officer…"

"No kidding…" she said softly and dryly and he hesitated for a split second before he continued with a touch more steel in his voice.

"My partner was the detective that your son shot last Monday…." He stared at her without blinking.

Her hand flexing on the edge of the door was the only sign of her increasing discomfort. "He's been fired and the D.A. told us he's not going being charged with anything. He's through with everything related to that damn department now, so you have no right –"

"I just want to talk to him, all right? Just talk…" Steve continued to stare at her, not backing down.

"He doesn't have to talk to you. He doesn't have to talk to anybody. He –"

"Mom."

She froze briefly, her head turning in the direction of the voice. Chad Adams came into view behind her, meeting Steve's eyes over his mother's shoulder.

"It's okay, Mom… I want to talk to him."


	28. Chapter 28

**Head and Heart – Chapter 28**

"Thank you," Steve smiled up at the waitress as she put the two steaming mugs of coffee on the weathered dark wood table then disappeared back behind the counter. He stared at the young man sitting quietly, looking down at his hands in his lap, on the opposite booth seat and pushed one of the mugs towards him. Picking up the small stainless steel pitcher of milk, he poured a little into his own cup and stirred it, his eyes still on his silent companion.

The decision to come to the small neighbourhood diner had been made by Chad Adams himself. His mother's hostility towards the Homicide detective who had shown up unannounced on their doorstep wasn't diminished by his insistence that he was only there to talk to her son. And after several minutes of strained civility, the disgraced rookie had suggested it might be better if they went somewhere else. Mrs. Adams wasn't happy with the proposition, and Steve could tell that relations between mother and son were, at best, strained.

Holding up the pitcher, Steve asked quietly, "Milk?"

Chad Adams haunted hazel eyes flicked up briefly and he nodded.

Steve smiled. "Tell me when," he instructed genially as he began to pour.

The pitcher was over half empty before he heard the soft, "That's good, thanks," and he stopped. He put the small metal jug on the table then slid the sugar bowl closer to Adams. With another grateful glance, the younger man spooned two heaping teaspoons of sugar into his mug.

Steve hid his soft smile behind his cup as he took a sip of the strong coffee. He waited until Adams had finally taken his own first sip before he set his mug down and looked unflinchingly across the table. "Why did you want to become a cop, Chad?" he asked gently.

Adams hands slipped from around the comfortingly hot cup to his lap again and he hung his head. He took a deep breath then finally looked up into the detective's eyes. "My, ah, my father's a cop," he began slowly, "and so was my grandfather… and his father…" He swallowed heavily and shook his head slightly. "I'm, ah, I'm my father's only son…" He shrugged, biting his bottom lip, his eyes suddenly bright.

Steve stared at the baby-faced ex-cop, who looked younger than his 22 years. "So… you didn't want to become a police officer?"

Still looking down, Adams shook his head. "Not really… but I didn't think I had much choice… I mean, ah, my dad sorta made it clear from when I was just a little kid that I was supposed to follow in his footsteps, you know…?" He looked up briefly and a tiny mirthless smile flashed across his features.

"The family legacy, right?" Steve suggested softly and the other man nodded.

"Yeah…" Adams took a deep breath and raised his head. "But I don't like guns… I never have…" He shook his head slightly in bewilderment. "I'm a good shot… I'm a great shot actually, I finished top of my class at the range… but I hate guns. I hate holding them and I hate having to fire them… they scare me…"

Steve met his eyes evenly, patiently.

Adams swallowed heavily and another mirthless smile briefly washed over his face. "That day in The Armory, when I… when I had the gun on you...? That was the first time I ever pulled it on duty. I was so scared… I heard footsteps, running footsteps coming towards me on the other side of those doors and I knew that there was a gunman in the building…" The words, which had started coming at an accelerated pace, suddenly stopped. His eyes were beseeching, as if hoping Steve would believe him.

The homicide detective was staring at him expressionlessly.

Adams licked his lips nervously, his eyes unfocusing as his gaze turned inward. "I froze…" he said simply, his voice little more than a whisper. "I just froze…"

Steve nodded gently. "I'm really glad you did…"

Adams blinked and looked at him again. His features crumpled and he nodded sharply, inhaling raggedly. He raised his right hand and rubbed it over his mouth and chin; Steve could see it was shaking.

Looking down, wrapping both hands around his mug, the older man asked softly, "So Chad, what happened in that alley last Monday?"

Adams stopped moving, his haunted eyes snapping to meet the suddenly deadly serious stare from the man on the other side of the booth. Neither of them moved for a couple of very long seconds, then Adams began to shake his head slowly. "I don't know… I honestly don't know…" His voice was cracking, his entire body starting to shudder almost imperceptibly.

He met Steve's stare through eyes rapidly filling with tears and he reached up with a trembling hand to brush the moisture away. "I saw the gun… and I guess I panicked, I don't know… I just…" He hung his head, and Steve could see the tears start to fall. "Oh god, I am so sorry… I am so, so sorry…" His entire body was shaking with the barely suppressed sobs.

Steve dropped his head, trying to still his own pounding heart, any residual anger he felt towards this young broken man rapidly diminishing. But he resisted the urge to reach across the table and offer physical comfort; he hadn't yet let the man who had almost killed his partner completely off the hook. So he waited until the young man had gotten himself under control then reached out and pushed Adams mug a little closer. "Here," he said softly, "have some more of your coffee."

With a grateful glance, Adams picked up the mug with both hands and took a sip, holding the cup protectively in front of his face. Eventually he looked up. "Your partner… ah, Lieutenant Stone, he's going to be okay, right?" he asked hopefully.

Closing his eyes briefly, Steve nodded. "Yeah… yeah, he's going to be okay. He was lucky, I guess…" he said with an ironic shrug that was not lost on the younger man.

Adams smiled mirthlessly. "He'd be luckier if I hadn't shot him…" His face crumbled again and his right hand covered his mouth as he struggled to get control once more. "Do you think he'd ever forgive me?" he asked quietly, the almost naked desperation in his voice disturbing.

"Do you need him to forgive you?" Steve asked gently and watched as the young man's face dissolved again and he bit his upper lip, nodding.

"Yeah," he said softly, "yeah, I do…"

Smiling encouragingly, Steve nodded slowly. "He's a very special man, my partner… I think he will, Chad, I really think he will…"

Adams nodded gratefully, actually managing to smile. "I know he told the D.A. that he didn't want me to be charged with anything…" He tilted his head and looked at the older man with amazement. "Why did he do that?"

Steve's smile got a little bigger. "Because that's the kind of guy he is. He… well, I guess he just put himself in your shoes and… he knows you didn't do it deliberately, and I guess he just doesn't want to ruin your life…"

Adams stared at the homicide detective for a long second before dropping his head and exhaling loudly. The silence lengthened between them but it was no longer confrontational.

"So, ah," Steve began softly, "so what are you going to do with your life now?"

Slowly Adams head came up, his eyes bright but no longer as haunted. After a long pause, he shook his head gently and shrugged. "I don't know… I really haven't given it much thought yet…"

"What would you like to do?"

For the first time since their eyes had locked through the half-open door of the Adams house, the young man actually smiled with pleasure. "I like to write…" he said wistfully, looking down self-consciously.

Frowning slightly with curiosity, Steve sat back, smiling. "What kind of writing?"

His eyes lighting up, Adams leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.

It was almost two hours later before they finally left the now crowded popular diner.

# # # # #

A plastic bag in one hand and a radio in the other, Steve half-jogged down the hospital corridor. He knew he was late and he knew he would have a lot of explaining to do.

He slowed down when he approached the right door, trying to catch his breath before he pushed it open, his apology already on his tongue. The room was silent. His eyes went automatically to the TV for a split-second before snapping to the half-raised bed. The TV was off and Mike was sound asleep.

Frowning, he quietly approached the bed. He was almost there when its occupant moved his head and opened his eyes, turning to look at him blankly. Blinking exaggeratedly, Mike shook his head and smiled sheepishly. "Jeez," he said with a chuckle, "I musta dozed off there. What time is it?"

Concerned but trying not to show it, Steve smiled, briefly debating with himself if he should pretend he'd been there all along. "It's okay. I, ah, I'm a little late. Sorry." He set the plastic bag on the floor near the head of the bed and plopped the radio on the overbed table. "Let's see if the game is on this TV," he said brightly as he crossed to the corner and reached up to turn the small set on. "You got a remote control for the cable box over there?"

Mike turned to look at the bedside table. "Yep, there's one right here." He picked it up and punched his way slowly through the four available local channels.

"Yes…" Steve hissed when a baseball game appeared.

"Yeh hey, there is it!" Mike chortled with a grin. "Turn up the volume a little, will ya?" He tossed the remote back onto the table.

Steve reached up and turned the volume knob before crossing back to the head of the bed, picking up the plastic bag. Mike was staring at the screen, trying to find the inning number and the score.

"Who are they playing again?" Steve asked as he set the bag on the bed.

"Philadelphia."

"How are the Phillies doing this year?"

"Oh, they're somewhere around .500." Mike sounded irritated and Steve smiled. He knew the Giants were not having a good year and were actually 10 games under .500. Tearing his eyes from the screen, Mike watched as Steve reached into the plastic bag. "What've you got there?"

Steve looked up, grinning. "Exactly what we need to watch a ballgame," he chuckled, taking out a bag of salted peanuts and tossing it on the blanket over his partner's lap before pulling out two boxes of Cracker Jack.

Mike stared at the boxes, shaking his head and laughing quietly, then looked up beaming. "Peanuts and Cracker Jack…? Very funny. You bring something to wash that down?"

Putting the Cracker Jack beside the bag of peanuts on the blanket, he reached back into the bag and brought out two soft drink cans – a Coke and a ginger ale. "They're even cold," he announced smugly, handing the ginger ale to the older man. As he pulled the chair closer to the bed, he nodded towards the TV. "You figured out the score yet?"

"Yeah, our boys are up four zip, top of the fifth."

"Who's pitching?" Steve dropped into the chair and popped the tab on the Coke.

"For us? Caldwell."

"He's having a good year, isn't he?"

"Ah, he's doin' okay." Mike opened the ginger ale, took a sip and put the can on the bedside table. He picked up both boxes of Cracker Jack and handed one to Steve, chuckling, then set about opening his own. He didn't notice his partner giving him the third degree, brow furrowed in concern. The older man had worrying dark circles under his eyes and he almost looked like he was getting worse instead of better.

Getting the box open and popping a few of the caramel covered popcorn into this mouth, Mike turned to his partner and grinned. Steve chuckled warmly, tilting the chair back as their attention turned to the TV.

By the end of the fifth inning, the Giants had scored four more runs and the game was well and truly in the control of the home team, barring total disaster. And both detectives were enjoying both the game and each other's company.

Steve reached for the bag of peanuts and ripped it open. As he put it back on the bed within easy reach of them both, he cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, Mike, there's something I need to talk to you about."

Finishing off the last of his Cracker Jack, Mike turned to him, scowling. "What is it?"

Leaning forward in the chair and resting his forearms on his thighs, Steve looked down at the floor before meeting the curious blue eyes. "I, ah, I went to see Chad Adams this morning… that's why I was late."

Mike's expression didn't change and he made no indication he was about to comment.

Swallowing nervously, Steve smiled mirthlessly. "There's, ah, there's a couple of things I think you should know."


	29. Chapter 29

Mike was staring silently, waiting for his partner to continue.

Steve looked down, as if collecting his thoughts, then nodded towards the TV. "Do you mind if I turn that down a bit?"

The older man nodded once. "Sure."

Steve got up and crossed to the TV. Mike's eyes followed him without expression. Standing at the foot of the bed, Steve took a deep breath. "He lives with his mother down in Daly City."

Mike nodded. "Barry told me his parents were divorced. They're from Sacramento, I think he said."

"Yeah… they are. Been here about six years. What else did Barry tell you, do you remember?"

Mike frowned slightly, looking down. "I was still a little out of it, but I think he said something about Adams being from a long line of cops…?"

Nodding, Steve moved back to the chair and sat. "Yeah. Yeah, that's what he told me too – father, grandfather, great-grandfather… Did Barry tell you anything else?"

Mike shook his head with a facial shrug. "Not that I can remember… I think we just talked about the, ah… what happened in the alley…"

Nodding, Steve flashed an encouragingly smile. "Okay, well, as you can probably guess, there was a lot of pressure on Chad to go into the family business. And he's an only child…" He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows slightly, hoping Mike would make the connection.

"So, ah, so Chad really didn't want to become a cop, did he? He did it because he felt it was expected of him…"

Steve continued to nod, chewing on his bottom lip. Then he started to shake his head slowly. "He's one of those guys who's just not cut out to be a cop, Mike… you've said it many times before. This guy could be the poster boy for it… I don't think there's an aggressive bone in his body…" He took a deep breath, looking his partner in the eye. "He was a scared kid in a uniform… with a gun…"

Mike nodded, looking down. "I, ah, I pretty much figured that out already… so what else do you want to tell me?" He raised his head and stared at the younger man confrontationally.

After a brief tense moment, Steve shook his head and smiled. His partner hadn't missed a beat and he was pleased to know Mike was firing on all cylinders even as he was recovering from what could so easily have been a career-ending, if not fatal, injury.

"Did, ah, did Barry tell you anything about why Adams parents divorced?"

Mike frowned and shook his head. "No… no, he didn't say a thing." He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't know…?"

"Probably not or he would've told you, I'm sure." Steve took a deep breath. "Chad and his dad had a… a falling out, I guess you might call it. It got pretty bad, he said, and his mother decided she needed to put some distance between them."

"So she divorced him and left town?"

With a sad sigh, Steve nodded. "Chad's gay, Mike." He let the revelation hang in the air for several seconds; the older man looked down and closed his eyes. They both knew the implications that one tiny word encompassed. "And his father wasn't exactly the open-minded, tolerant guy we all hope our parents are… right?"

Mike sighed heavily, bringing his left hand up to briefly rub across his eyes. "Did he hit him?" he asked softly.

With a sad and disgusted snort, Steve nodded sharply. "More than once… His mother knew she had to get him out of there before his father killed him…"

Mike inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. They were silent for several long seconds. "And he still wanted to become a cop?" he asked almost rhetorically, his voice little more than a whisper.

Nodding barely perceptibly, Steve stared at the floor. "He said he didn't want to let his grandfather down…"

Mike looked at him. "Is his grandfather still alive?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded. "He's retired… a captain." He looked up with a quick smile.

"What about the father?"

"He's a lieutenant in Robbery/Homicide."

Mike snorted dryly. "And I bet he's never had to pay for the way he treated his son, has he?"

Steve's laugh was short and bitter. "You got that right." He leaned forward and stared at the floor again then cleared his throat pointedly. "Listen, ah, he's really torn up about what happened… about what he did to you… He's never going to be the same, and he knows that… And he asked me if I could arrange for him to meet you…" He looked up into his partner's slightly frowning but expressionless blue eyes. "He wants to apologize… and he needs you to forgive him."

Mike stared at him without moving for several long seconds before he closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath. After several still and quiet moments, he opened his eyes and smiled slightly, beginning to nod. "Of course I'll meet with him… and of course I'll forgive him. There was never any doubt about that, was there?"

Steve smiled warmly. "No, and I already told him you would but that I had to check with you first…"

Mike snorted a quick, affectionate laugh then stared straight ahead, his gaze unfocusing but a soft smile lingering on his lips. "Talk about 'walking a mile', hunh?" he said enigmatically and Steve grunted.

"Yeah," he agreed sadly, "you never know, do you? There's always two sides to every coin, isn't there?"

"And sometimes even more…"

"Yeah…" A companionable silence lengthened between them. Eventually Steve looked at his partner, smiled to himself, then got up and crossed back to the TV. He turned the sound up.

Mike looked up at the screen. As Steve dropped back into the chair, the older man laughed softly, "I see the Phillies are staging a comeback; they just scored two."

"So, what? It's 7 to 2 now?" Steve chuckled.

"8 to 2," Mike corrected with another laugh.

The younger man leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, reaching towards the bed for a handful of peanuts. He stared at his partner's profile for a couple of seconds before turning to face the TV. He popped a couple of peanuts into his mouth. "Are you okay?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.

Mike glanced at him quickly. "I'm fine. Why?"

"I don't know, you just, ah, you look tired… Are you sleeping all right?"

Mike faced him, his brow slightly furrowed. "I'm sleeping fine," he said pedantically, hoping to put an end to this line of inquiry.

"Okay," Steve said lightly, popping a few more peanuts into his mouth as he looked at the TV again. But he wasn't convinced.

# # # # #

"Well, it's nice to see them win for a change," Steve chuckled as he turned the TV off. He glanced at his watch; it was almost 4.

"So, you going out with Mel tonight?"

"No, she's working, but she has Monday and Tuesday off. Oh, that reminds me, she wants to do that 'special dinner' for us on Tuesday night. Is that okay with you?"

Mike nodded enthusiastically. "Sure is; I'm looking forward to it."

"Good. Oh, and, ah, speaking of that, they're still talking about releasing you on Monday, right?"

"Yes…" Mike glared at him from under a lowered brow, pretty sure he knew what the young man was about to propose.

"I've already told Roy I was taking the morning off to drive you home… and that's what I want to talk to you about. I don't think it's a good idea for you to -"

"Steve, I'm going home," he interrupted smoothly and forcefully. "You're going to be working long hours, I'll be more comfortable in my own house, and besides, between all the food that Jeannie's left me and Mel coming over to make dinner on Tuesday, I won't even have to leave the house."

"But all those stairs…?"

"Which I only have to climb once, right? And I can do that with no problem. So don't worry about me, I'll be happier at home. I've been living there for over twenty years, you know, I'll be just fine…" He finished with a broad smile and raised eyebrows.

Steve inhaled deeply. "Mel said you'd say that."

"She's a smart young woman," the older man chuckled warmly.

Knowing he'd been bested, Steve started to pick up the detritus of their afternoon nosh, tossing the empty Cracker Jack boxes, peanut bag and drink cans in the garbage. "I'm gonna drop by your place tomorrow and pick up a change of clothes for you for Monday. Do you want anything else?"

Mike shook his head. "No, I can't think of anything."

"Okay. So do you think you'll be comfortable in the Porsche? I can probably nab the LTD but –"

"No, don't bother. I'll be okay in the Porsche."

"Okay, great." He looked around the room; all their garbage had been put away. He picked up the radio, looked at the bed and smiled. "I'm gonna head out, if it's okay with you. I want to drop by the office on the way home, see if we've gotten any bites on those Missing Persons notifications we put out." He started for the door.

"Hunh, at this rate, you'll still be working on it by the time I get back on duty," Mike laughed softly.

"Bite your tongue," Steve chuckled as he opened the door. He stared at his partner for a couple of long seconds. "Get some sleep, okay?" His tone was concerned and serious.

Mike smiled self-consciously. "I will." As the door closed, he called out, laughing, "Hey, thanks again for the peanuts and Cracker Jack!"

# # # # #

_The blinding sunlight. The shout. The deafening report. The small piece of lead burying itself in his chest. Falling…_

Mike came awake with a jerk and a strangled cry, his right hand clawing at his chest, his left clenching the blanket again. Gritting his teeth, he stared at the ceiling, both furious at and disappointed in himself at the same time.

Sleep was going to be a stranger again tonight.

# # # # #

It was another beautiful sunshine-filled Sunday and Steve was trying to make the most of it. He and Mel had gone out for brunch at a trendy new restaurant in North Beach then, after taking her home, he swung by Mike's and packed a bag for tomorrow.

He stopped briefly at the hospital to drop off the change of clothes, relieved but still a little concerned to find his partner sleeping during the day again. Still, he was gratified to see his slowly recovering partner was finally getting some much-needed rest.

He was toying with the idea of stopping by the office again later in the day; they actually had two possible 'missing persons' notifications that he and Tanner needed to follow through on. One was further upstate near Eureka and the other down around San Diego. Hopes weren't high but every lead had to be followed, every thread pulled, so to speak.

But at the moment his primary concern was his car. He really hadn't had time to give it much TLC since their return from Tahoe six days ago. The week had not gone the way he had anticipated but, all things considered, had turned out a whole lot better than it started.

He crossed the street with a bucket of soapy water and a large sponge, intending to give his pride and joy a much-needed bath. He put the bucket and sponge on the asphalt near the driver's side and opened the door. He lifted the leaver that folded the front seat and reached into the small area behind it to snag any garbage his initial clean-up had missed.

His fingertips touched what felt like a plastic bag and he pulled it out. He'd forgotten all about it he realized as, his eyebrows on the rise, he pulled the broken distributor cap out of the crumpled bag and stared at it, at the obvious crack across the top… the crack that had caused him so much guilt and grief.

He put the cap back in the bag and tossed it on the passenger seat. He knew Gino's was closed on Sundays, but he vowed he would be waiting when his mechanic showed up for work first thing Monday morning. He wanted an explanation and he wanted it now.


	30. Chapter 30

The early morning sun was glinting off the highly polished Porsche Targa 911 sitting in the far corner of the small, crowded parking area outside the garage on 25th when the vintage pick-up truck drove up. As it disappeared around the back of the two bay garage, the driver's side door of the sports car opened and, the plastic bag in his hand, Steve Keller got out and crossed to the office door.

He waited patiently while the proprietor entered the office through the back and turned on the lights, his eyes widening in surprise when he spotted the young cop standing at the glass-paned front door. He crossed the small room quickly to unlock and open it.

"Steve! What the hell are you doing here at this hour? Anything wrong?"

"'Morning, Gino." He held up the plastic bag in his right hand. "I, ah, I need to ask you something."

"Sure, sure," the heavy-set middle-aged mechanic said quickly, nodding, as he stepped back to allow the younger man to enter the small, overcrowded office cum stockroom. "What's going on? You having a problem with that Porsche of yours?"

"You could say that," Steve said as he stopped in front of the desk.

Gino crossed around to the large brown fabric-covered swivel chair and sat heavily, gesturing at the guest chair. Steve sat on the edge, leaning forward over the desk. "I drove up to Tahoe last weekend –"

"Yeah, I remember you telling me you were gonna do that," Gino interrupted with a smile and a nod.

"Yeah, and everything was fine… but then on Sunday night when we were getting ready to come home, it wouldn't start."

The mechanic's frown was instantaneous and deep and his head snapped back. "It wouldn't start?"

Steve shook his head. "It wouldn't even turn over. I had to wait till Monday morning to walk into town and get a tow. I, ah, I didn't get back to The City here till mid-afternoon." He had decided against telling the other man about the consequences of his absence.

Gino was shaking his head, looking confused. "That doesn't make any sense, Steve, there was nothing wrong with your car… I'd guarantee it."

The cop held up the plastic bag. "Turns out it was this." He handed the bag over and the shop owner opened it, staring at Steve with a frown as he did so.

"The distributor cap?" Gino sounded thoroughly shocked and baffled. He started to shake his head as he stared at the very visible crack. "What the hell…?" He looked up at the expectant Porsche owner, who tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "How did this happen?"

"That's what I want to ask you, Gino," Steve said evenly. "Do, ah, do distributor caps just crack of their own accord? I mean, I didn't think so…"

The shop owner was shaking his head, staring at the cap again. "No… no, they don't. And my guys would've caught this, Steve, I can guarantee you they would. This doesn't make any sense." He shot to his feet and crossed quickly to the front door and out into the bright morning sunshine.

By the time Steve caught up with him, he had fished his glasses out of this pocket and was studying the cap intently. Suddenly he began to nod. "Yeah," he said almost under his breath, "yeah, I thought so…"

"Thought so what?" Steve asked, looking from Gino to the cap and back again.

"Here… see?" The mechanic pointed at the crack.

Steve stared at it then shook his head. "Yeah, it's a crack, I saw that already."

"No," Gino insisted, pointing at a mark that Steve hadn't noticed before. "This… look at this…" He raised the cap closer to the cop's eyes.

Squinting slightly, Steve suddenly froze and his head came up a bit. "Is that a… what, a mark…?" He wasn't sure how to describe it but Gino started to nod.

"Not just a mark, Steve… that's evidence, as you would say, of a blow."

"A blow?"

"This cap just didn't crack all on its own; they just don't do that. Somebody hit this with something."

Steve stomach suddenly dropped and he froze. "What?" he asked quietly, as if he was having a hard time finding his voice.

Gino looked at him almost triumphantly. "Somebody hit this with something," he repeated, relieved to know his mechanics hadn't missed a defect this important when they had serviced the sports car so recently.

"Hit it with what?" The cop's voice still sounded far away.

"Well, it's hard to tell, really," Gino said quietly, studying the cap again. "A hammer maybe… or a crowbar…"

"Or a lug wrench…?"

The mechanic nodded. "Yeah, that would do it."

Steve knew there was a lug wrench with the spare tire in the trunk of his car.

"Listen, Steve, my guys wouldn't've missed this, you know that, right?" Gino said simply, studying at the now visibly distracted young cop.

His eyes slowly travelling back to the shop owner who was looking at him with raised eyebrows, Steve nodded slowly. "Yeah… yeah, I know that, Gino, I know that…" Slowly he took the cap from the older man's hand.

"Do you know who coulda done this?"

Steve nodded slowly, staring at the cap. "Yeah… yeah, I do…" Biting his upper lip, he looked at the mechanic and managed to find a small, mirthless smile. "Gino, I'm… I'm sorry I, ah… I'm sorry I thought you guys had screwed up. I, ah –"

"Hey," the older man interrupted calmly, "don't worry about it, son. I understand why you'da thought that. I'm just glad it wasn't us after all."

Nodding absent-mindedly, Steve finally tore his eyes from the damning evidence in his hand. "Thanks, Gino." He started across the small parking lot towards his car, the concerned eyes of the garage owner following until the Porsche was out of sight.

# # # # #

"Ready to go?" Steve asked as Mike came out of the bathroom, dressed in the clothes he had brought to the hospital yesterday.

The older man looked at him and grinned. "You bet."

An orderly with a wheelchair was waiting in the hall and Steve had the paperwork in his hand. Mike had taken some time that morning to wander down to both Emergency and ICU to thank the doctors and nurses that had been so vital in his initial care and subsequent recovery.

More than happy to be getting out of the hospital, he endured the wheelchair ride to the front entrance then the slow walk to Steve's car in the parking lot. The short ride to the De Haro Street house was mostly made in silence, each of them seemingly lost in their own private battles.

Mike had made the long climb up to his house without too much difficulty and was now surveying the dirty breakfast dishes in the kitchen. "Oh, yeah," he chuckled, "I forgot I made Jeannie pancakes before I took her to the bus station."

Steve smiled warmly. "Lucky her. You gotta make 'em for me again sometime soon, okay?"

Mike looked at him and grinned. "Anytime, just ask." His grin wavered; his young partner was staring into space, preoccupied. He'd been doing that a lot since he'd arrived at the hospital that morning. "Hey, ah," he asked and saw Steve's eyes focus on him, "something wrong…?" he asked carefully, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Steve smiled suddenly, shaking his head. "No, no, just, ah… just thinking about the Goodman case," he lied unconvincingly. "Bill and I got a coupla more leads again last night."

"Oh… well, that's good," Mike offered lamely, both of them knowing the other wasn't being fooled. "Ah, look, ah, I know you've gotta get into the office and all that – and thanks for picking me up…" He shrugged with a self-conscious grin.

"You're welcome," Steve answered with a gentle chuckle.

Mike nodded quickly. "But, ah…" He paused and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Listen, ah, could you stop around again tonight sometime? There's, ah, there's something I want to talk to you about…" He shrugged noncommittally and bobbled his head slightly.

Steve frowned. "You want to talk about it now…?" he offered tentatively.

"No no," Mike said quickly, shaking his head. "I didn't mean now… um, tonight'll be fine, really…"

His brows still knit, Steve nodded slowly. "Okay… um, sure… sure, I'll drop by after I finish work, how does that sound?"

Smiling gratefully, Mike bobbed his head. "Great… ah, great… Listen, I'll thaw out some of that pot roast that Jeannie left for me, how does that sound?"

With a quick grin, Steve nodded again. "That sounds wonderful. I'll see you in a few hours." As he crossed through the living room to the front door, he called over his shoulder, "You should try to get some sleep this afternoon!"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'll try!" Mike yelled after him, his smile disappearing as he heard the door close.

# # # # #

His keys in his hand, Steve crossed De Haro to his car and got in. As he turned the motor over he glanced up at the house. "Damn…" he muttered under his breath as he shifted into Drive and backed out of the space.

He had been hoping to see Mel that night, to follow up on the ugly and disturbing thoughts that had been churning through his mind since his visit to Gino's that morning. He couldn't believe what he was contemplating but he could think of any other explanation.

But he also knew for sure now that something wasn't right with his partner and that, for him at this moment, was his first priority. He knew Mike hadn't been sleeping, and he suspected he was battling flashbacks or nightmares. But a call to Lenny Murchison was out of the question at the moment, he also knew; Mike had used the psychiatrist's services before but, for some reason, this time seemed different.

And if Mike wanted to talk to him tonight, he would be there; there was no doubt about that at all.

# # # # #

"Hi, sexy, are you at work?" Mel's soft and sensuous voice oozed towards him over the phone line.

"Yeah, yeah, I am, unfortunately," he forced a chuckle.

"Did you get Mike home safe and sound?"

"Sure did. Oh, did I tell you he said you were 'a very smart young lady', by the way?"

"Well, he's right about that, but in what regard?" she laughed.

"About him wanting to go home – to his own home…"

"Ha ha, I told ya. He's gonna be okay there, right?"

"Oh, yeah. He's doing great. He just has to take it really easy for the next week or so, then he can even go back to work if he gets the OK from his doctors." His left hand had slid into the pocket of the jacket hanging on the back of his chair and emerged with a small clear plastic pill bottle with a white snap cap. He leaned back slightly and stared at the label as he kept up his end of the conversation.

"Wow, that's pretty great, you know, all things considered, right? Hey, listen, about tomorrow night…"

"Yeah, ah," Steve said tentatively, "yeah, I want to talk to you about that. Um, maybe it's a little soon, what do you think? I, ah, I think it might be better for Mike if we postpone it till your next night off. Is that okay? You didn't buy anything for tomorrow night yet, did you?"

"Ah… ah, no… no, I haven't," she said softly and he could hear the disappointment in her voice. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah… yeah, I am."

"Okay… okay, sure, whatever you think is right."

He chuckled softly and lovingly. "Thanks… Look, ah, you know I wanted to spend the evening with you tonight but, ah, well, Mike's asked me to drop by after work… I'm pretty sure he's having trouble sleeping, and he said he wants to talk to me about something tonight and I think that's what he wants to talk about."

"Trouble sleeping? Because of… what happened?" she asked, the concern evident in her voice.

"Yeah… anyway, if it _is_ that, I might want to spend the night with him, make sure he gets some sleep tonight… so –"

"No no no, I understand," she said quickly. "Mike's health comes first, no argument there. You stay with him if he needs you and I'll, ah, I'll see you tomorrow. Don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

She sighed audibly and sexily. "Sure I'm sure. Anyway, the longer it takes for me to see you, the more, um… excited I get, if you know what I mean…" Her sensuous laugh was infectious and she could hear his low chuckle on the other end of the line.

He glanced around the office, at the several pairs of eyes that were surreptitiously looking in his direction. He sat up quickly and cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, I'm not here alone," he said softly, "I'd better hang up. I'll call you first thing tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Listen, ah, good luck with Mike tonight, okay? Give him my love."

"I will."

"Thanks. Hey, love ya, sexy…" she purred into the phone.

"Yeah, ah… I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good day." He hung up the phone quickly, waves of guilt washing over him as he stared at the receiver in the cradle, knowing she would be looking at the now dead phone in her own hand, confused and maybe just a little bit worried.

But he couldn't help that now, he thought. Mike was his first priority at the moment. He looked once more at the small pill bottle then slipped it back into his jacket pocket.

He leaned back in the chair and ran his hands over his face, then looked at the phone again. If what he was assuming turned out to be true, he really didn't know what he was going to do next. All he knew was that he had to do something.

And it was entirely possible that the next 24 hours would bring some very hard truths home.


	31. Chapter 31

**Head and Heart – Chapter 31**

"So, did any of those leads pan out?" Mike asked as he poured the beer into a glass and set it down in front of his partner.

Steve, rolling up his sleeves, was sitting at the table in the Stone kitchen. The place was now spic and span; Mike had assured him he had taken his time doing the dishes and cleaning up that afternoon, mainly used his left hand so as not to put too much strain on his right side, and was none the worse for wear.

Eyeing him skeptically, Steve picked up the beer and took a swig. Swallowing, he tilted his head and inhaled deeply. "That smells great."

"I know… doesn't it?" Mike said exaggeratedly, glancing over his shoulder from the kitchen counter where he was taking plates out of the cupboard. "Even when it's been frozen, it's still the best smell ever… well, I least I think so…" he chuckled, pride in his daughter's cooking evident as always. He turned to the table to set the plates down. "Should be ready in about a half hour."

"Perfect." Steve nodded at the glass of milk at the other place setting. "You still on antibiotics."

Mike nodded with feigned annoyance. "Yes, for another four days…" He sighed theatrically then chuckled. "I guess I can live with that. All things considered…"

"Yeah."

The older man dropped into his chair and took a sip of the milk. Steve studied him across the table. "So, ah, so what is it you want to talk to me about?" he asked quietly.

Mike stared at him for a couple of seconds, then dropped his eyes and snorted a quick, almost embarrassed laugh. He shrugged and raised his eyes. "Well, I, ah, I've been thinking about that today and I, ah… well, it's kinda stupid and I –"

"Mike."

The older man's head came up; he looked very much like a little boy who'd been caught in a lie.

Steve stared at his partner for a long beat then said simply, "Mike, in all the years we've been together, there's been nothing that you've wanted to talk to me about that's been stupid." He held the older man's stare for a second or two then grinned.

Mike dropped his head and chuckled, bringing his left hand up to cover his eyes. "Well, thank you for that…"

"Well, I mean," Steve continued whimsically, "some conversations have been half-baked and others have been downright bizarre but I don't remember stupid…"

"Ha ha, very funny," Mike intoned flatly but he was smiling affectionately. He took a deep breath and looked down, the smile disappearing, gathering himself.

"You're not sleeping, are you?" Steve asked pointedly and watched his partner's head come up sharply again, unable to hide the guilty look that flashed across his features.

"How do you…?"

"'Cause you look like shit," Steve interrupted flatly, continuing to stare.

After a tense beat where neither moved, Mike said dryly, "Thanks."

"Well, I'm not the only one who noticed. The hospital staff were a little worried about you too but because you didn't say anything to them, they figured you wanted to deal with it on your own." He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "Am I to assume they were right?" When Mike said nothing, he shook his head in affectionate frustration. "Well, just so you know, they gave me these," he said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket over the chair his was sitting on and producing the small pill bottle.

"Sleeping pills?" Mike asked softly and the other man nodded. He pulled his head back and shook it sharply. "I don't want to start taking them –" he started angrily and the younger man cut him off.

"Did I say you had to take them? Relax… I'm not gonna make you. That decision will be totally yours, don't worry."

Mike looked down and ran a hand over his eyes. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Steve smiled softly. "So what is it? Nightmares… or flashbacks…?"

Inhaling deeply, Mike put his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head into his hands, staring at the floor. "Ah, flashbacks, I guess…"

Taking a beat, leaning forward slowly, Steve asked quietly, "What do you see?"

Still looking down, Mike said softly, "I'm in the alley… I see the sunlight… I hear the shout of 'gun'… the sound of the shot… I, ah, I feel the bullet hit my chest…" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "I'm falling… and I know I'm gonna be dead by the time I hit the ground…"

Steve stared at him silently for several long beats. "You, ah, you think maybe you should talk to Lenny about this –?"

Mike's head came up quickly. "No. No, Lenny, please." He paused and collected himself. "I know Lenny knows what he's doing but this is different, Steve. I'm… I'm pretty sure I know what this is about…" He stopped and dropped his head back on his hands. "I'm not explaining this very well…"

"Is this the, ah, the stupid part…?" Steve asked quietly, with a soft smile, and Mike's head came up fast again. His angry glare melted quickly and he snorted a chuckle. "Yeah, I guess it is…"

Steve shrugged. "Just, ah, just give it a try. Tell me what you think it is."

Mike stared at him expressionlessly for several long seconds then inhaled deeply. "Okay," he shrugged lightly. "I guess it started a couple of days after I was hit… I was, ah, I was lying there thinking about what I'd just been through, and that what I remembered most was everybody telling me how lucky I'd been…" He snorted dryly again. "Lucky… I can't tell you how many times I heard that word those first couple of days…" He shook his head with a slight bewilderment.

Steve waited patiently, knowing there was more to come.

After several silent seconds, Mike sat back in the chair, dropping his hands to his lap. "And that got me thinking," he continued softly, "you know, about life… and about luck…" He tilted his head and smiled wistfully, staring fondly at his young friend and partner. "How much luck do you think we get in a lifetime, buddy boy?"

The question caught Steve off guard and he pulled his head back, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" He dropped his head and chuckled mirthlessly, "Oh god, it sounds so stupid when you say it out loud…"

Steve leaned forward sharply. "Mike!" As the older man looked up, he smiled warmly, shaking his head with a dry chuckle, "Look, just come out and say what you want to say and let me decide if it's stupid or not… okay?"

Grinning sheepishly, Mike laughed gently. "Okay, buddy –" He stopped himself quickly, raising a hand. "Sorry. I know I said I'd never call you that again…"

"Yes, you did," Steve reminded him with a laugh.

Chuckling, Mike took another deep breath. "Okay, well, what I'm trying to get at is, do you think we're born with a… a finite amount of luck?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"A finite amount of luck?"

"Yeah, like… say you're born with only so much and when you use it all up, that's it, game over?"

"Game over?" Steve repeated slowly. "So like you think that because you used up a hell of a lot of luck last Monday that you're now… I don't know… tapped out?"

Mike nodded tentatively. "Yeah… something like that…"

Steve bit back the urge to laugh at the endearing guilelessness, knowing that his best friend was deadly serious and being totally honest with him right now. Instead he leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and smiled affectionately. "Michael, I've never known anyone with as much luck as you seem to have. It does seem… bottomless sometimes. And I have a theory about that."

Frowning slightly, intrigued, Mike leaned forward slightly, his eyes still riveted on his partner's open face.

"I think," Steve began softly, continuing to smile, "that we can make our own luck during our lives… and we can do that by living a good and decent life, a selfless life… by doing the right thing even when nobody else sees it or knows about it…" He smiled. "And I'm not talking about something that comes from God or anything highfalutin like that… I'm talking about something that comes from deep within us all… Does that make any sense?"

Mike had started to nod slowly. "Yeah… yeah, sorta like 'reaping what you sow', right?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, something like that." He stared at the older man. "And you have that in spades, Michael Stone, you know that right? I've never known anyone who puts everyone else's best interests before his own like you do." He paused and tilted his head, his smile wavering a little. "Is that what brought all this on? Did you start thinking that maybe you'd used up all your luck?"

Mike looked down and snorted dryly. He took a deep breath. "Yeah, something like that."

The younger man leaned forward a little more. "Is that why you're having the flashbacks, do you think? That the next time, god forbid, it happens, you'll have run outa luck?"

The older man stared at him, a haunted look coming back to his dark-circled eyes and he nodded slowly. "Yeah," he whispered, "yeah, I think it is…"

His heart almost breaking, Steve swallowed heavily and a sadly sweet smile lit his face. He shook his head very slowly. "You don't ever need to worry about running out of luck, my friend… ever…"

Mike dropped his head and chuckled self-consciously. He raised his forearms and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes then rested his chin on his clasped hands and stared into nothing.

Steve leaned back slowly, allowing the older man time to marshal his thoughts. Eventually he said quietly, "You look exhausted."

Mike's eyes turned towards him slowly and he nodded. "I am," he admitted softly with a quiet snort.

"Look, ah, after we eat, why don't you go to bed, see if you can get a head start on a good nights sleep. And I'm gonna bunk down here on the couch –" He raised a hand quickly before Mike could say anything. "Just for tonight… just to make sure everything's okay. I, ah, I have an overnight bag in the car," he finished with a dry chuckle.

The older man dropped his head again with a trembling smile.

"Look, I want to get you back to work as soon as possible and that's not gonna happen if you don't get some sleep, right?'

Mike nodded reluctantly. "Yeah…" He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck then across his eyes once more. "I could really use some, that's for sure."

"Then it's a done deal." Steve started to get to his feet. "Look, ah, you just sit there and store up all the energy… and luck… that you need," he chuckled warmly, "and let me get everything ready for dinner. I mean, it's not like I don't know where everything is in this house, right?"

'Right," Mike laughed, watching him affectionately. As Steve went about finishing setting the table, the older man's smile disappeared slowly and the haunted look crept back into his eyes. Talking about it was one thing, he knew; the real test would come tonight.

# # # # #

The pot roast tasted just as delicious as it had smelled, and the partners enjoyed both the food and the company. Steve kept stealing surreptitious glances across the table, still amazed that it had only been a week since his partner had been shot in the chest.

Laying down his fork for the final time, the younger man leaned back and patted his stomach. "That really hit the spot."

Chuckling, Mike wiped his mouth with a napkin then tossed it on the table. "It sure does, doesn't it? Especially after a week of hospital food." He frowned and raised his shoulders in a half-shrug. "Sorry, I don't seem to have anything for dessert…"

"I don't need any dessert, honestly," Steve laughed softly as he began to get up. "Listen, I'll clean this up. Why don't you head upstairs and get ready for bed?"

Flashing his partner a grateful smile, Mike started to get slowly to his feet. "Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks."

Steve watched as Mike used his left hand to push himself up, his right arm pressed against his side. "Are you feeling okay?"

The older man smiled reassuringly. "Yeah, I'm fine – just a little sore. It's been a busy day. But the doctors told me to expect that, so don't worry." He finished with raised eyebrows and a pointed look.

Chuckling, Steve slapped him lightly on the upper arm. "All right, all right. I'll be up after I get this stuff cleared away."

Nodding slowly with a sardonic smile, Mike headed into the living room and towards the stairs.

# # # # #

Though it was only a little past 7, with the heavy blackout curtains closed the room was quite dark, lit only by the small bedside lamp. By the time Steve climbed the stairs to the second floor, Mike was in bed and under the covers. He opened his eyes when the young man entered to room and smiled.

"Okay, so, ah, I'll be downstairs. I brought a book so after I do the dishes and finish cleaning up I'll just read for awhile." He stared at the older man. "And I'll, ah, I'll see you in the morning," he finish hopefully.

Mike exhaled loudly. "Just so you know, I think I usually have the, ah… the flashbacks around 1, 1:30…." He chuckled sheepishly. "I'd, ah, I'd look at my watch for some reason… habit…?"

Steve smiled. "Well, let's hope you make it through the night tonight." He gestured at the bedside lamp. "Want me to turn this off?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Steve turned the light off and walked to the door. "Sleep well," he wished softly as he closed the door.

Mike nodded to himself as he stared at the ceiling. He could feel his heart starting to pound and he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to relax. He knew if he didn't get a handle on all this, his future as a street cop would be in serious doubt. And he had the sinking feeling that this was going to be one of the longest nights of his life.


	32. Chapter 32

Stifling a yawn, he tore his eyes away from the book, picked up his watch from the endtable and brought it under the glow of the lamp so he could see the hands. 12:36. Closing the novel, he set it quietly on the coffee table and got to his feet, crossing silently to the stairs then up to the second floor.

He pushed the master bedroom door open; Mike was lying on his back, seemingly sound asleep. Sighing softly with relief, he tiptoed into the room and slipped into the small armchair he had moved closer to the bed earlier.

He settled back, his eyes on his partner's face, and waited.

# # # # #

_**He approached the white van cautiously; it was extremely dark in the alley, and with the contrasting glare from the wall of bright sunlight hitting the sidewalk just feet away, he really couldn't see much till he was almost on top of it. Standing beside the back wheel, he crouched quickly and peered underneath the battered vehicle; there was nothing. Getting up, he moved swiftly to the back doors of the van and looked through the small windows; it was empty. So was the front seat. **_

_**With a heavy sigh, knowing the gunman had gotten away cleanly, he turned around and started back up the alley towards the grocery store's back door. He would leave the investigation of the potential robbery to the uniforms, he thought with a silent chuckle, it really wasn't his problem anyway.**_

_**He reached back with his right hand to slip the .38 into the holster on his right hip, using the grip of the gun to flip the jacket flap away from his side. He had just stepped into a blinding shaft of sunlight when he saw a dark silhouette in the back door of the Chinese grocery.**_

# # # # #

Mike flinched. Steve sat up quickly, leaning forward and holding his breath. The older man's left hand closed tightly around the sheet and he took a couple of quick breaths.

Steve reached out and laid his hand gently on his partner's left forearm, feeling the taut muscles underneath the cotton pajama sleeve.

# # # # #

_**He froze. tensing, his gun hovering in the air an inch or so above the holster. **_

"_**Did you find him?" came the familiar voice from the darkened doorway and he instantly relaxed, sliding the .38 into the leather holster on his hip. **_

_**Grinning, he crossed the remaining few yards to the grocery store door, shaking his head and chuckling. "Nah, he got away." He shrugged, following his partner back into the store.**_

# # # # #

Steve watched as Mike took another deep breath and held it then let it out slowly almost in a sigh. He felt the tight muscles under his hand relax and the older man released the stranglehold he had on the sheet.

Exhaling soflty, he sat back in the chair, smiling warmly. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. Hopefully, the worst was over for tonight, and Mike would finally get the night's sleep that he so desperately needed.

# # # # #

Mike opened his eyes, staring at his own bedroom ceiling for a welcome change. He could see a faint glow around the edges of the thick black curtains and knew that the sun was well and truly up.

He smiled to himself, snorting softly in relief. He was pretty sure he had made it through the night without another one of those horrific flashbacks.

Throwing back the sheet, he sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. He stood carefully, keeping his right hand on his chest; it was still slightly painful but nothing like it had been even a few days ago, he acknowledged thankfully. He grabbed his dressing gown from the back of the closet door, stepped into his slippers and padded across the hallway to the bathroom.

As he made his way slowly downstairs, he smelled the enticing aroma of fresh coffee and heard quiet movement in the kitchen, and he smiled affectionately. There was a discarded pillow and blanket on the couch, an open overnight bag on the coffee table. Without a word he crossed silently to the kitchen entrance.

Dressed for the office, Steve turned away from the counter where he was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the percolator. "Congratulations," he said with a warm grin, "you made it through the night…"

Mike's face it up. "I did, didn't I?"

"How do you feel?"

The older man chuckled softly. "Good… really good. I mean I know it's gonna take more than just one night but… wow…" He shook his head in wonder. "I thought it was going to be a rough night… and I don't even remember it. So I'll take that…"

Steve took another cup out of the cupboard and filled it, handing it to his partner, who was still standing in the doorway, and nodding at the milk carton and sugar bowl on the counter.

Taking the cup, Mike crossed to the counter and pick up the milk. "You heading into work?"

Steve glanced at his watch. "Yeah, Bill and I have to go over those leads that came in over the weekend."

"So what time should I expect you and Mel tonight?"

Steve started suddenly, his free hand going to his forehead. "Oh, jeez, I totally forgot…"

Mike turned to him, frowning. "Something wrong?"

Smiling contritely, and looking like he was groping for an explanation, Steve shook his head. "No, no, there's nothing wrong," he lied smoothly, hoping his closest friend wouldn't notice, "but we decided tonight might be too soon… I mean, you know, you just got home… so we're going to do it her next day off. Probably early next week." He paused and smiled apologetically. "We'll know when exactly after she gets her schedule."

Mike was holding his cup in mid-air, frowning as he watched his partner almost frantically trying to explain the change in plans. He knew he wasn't being told the truth but instinctively knew that now wasn't the time or place to press the matter. There had to be a good reason and he knew he would be told when the time was right; he owed his young friend that much.

He began to nod slowly. "Oh, okay, yeah, I understand… and I think you're right. I think I do need a night just to myself tonight." He smiled warmly. "And, ah, hey… it'll give me something to look forward to next week, right?"

Mirroring the look, Steve nodded back, knowing from long experience that Mike wasn't buying his rather lame explanation but grateful that the older man had the grace not to press the issue at the moment.

# # # # #

After answering everyone's questions about his partner, and assuring them all that Mike was now at home and recuperating quickly, Steve finally got down to work.

The missing persons leads that had come in over the weekend needed to be followed-up on, which required a number of phone calls and faxes. The Eureka possibility soon proved a dead end but the San Diego tip was a definite possibility. There was also a maybe way upstate in Mt. Shasta and another in Palm Springs.

"Mmm, Palm Springs…" Haseejian sighed when he overheard Steve and Bill discussing their case. "If you guys need someone to volunteer for a road trip, count me in."

"Ha!" Steve almost roared. "If anybody's going to Palm Springs, it'll be me."

"What?" Tanner protested. "I believe I have seniority over you by three months, do I not?"

Steve turned to his temporary partner with a Cheshire cat smile. "Ah yes, but it was Mike's and my case first, wasn't it? I get dibs."

"Neither of you are going anywhere until we get a solid lead somewhere," Devitt growled from the door of Mike's office. Every eye in the room turned towards him. "Okay, fellas, I'd like at least one more case solved before I have to turn this office back over to Mike… is that too much to ask?" With a furrowed brow and a stern visage, he glared at them one at a time in an attempt to get his point across. Or so he thought.

Dan Healey was the first to laugh, followed quickly by Haseejian. Within seconds, everyone was chuckling, including Devitt.

Shaking his head, Inspector Lessing chortled, "You can't pull that off half as good as Mike can, Roy. You shouldn't even try…"

With a lop-sided smile and a loose-limbed shrug, Devitt moaned, "Well, I thought it was worth a shot. But it would be nice to add at least one more notch to the old 'Solved' headboard before Mike comes back, wouldn't it?"

"We'll see what we can do for you, Roy," Steve laughed, "but, you know, it might mean taking a road trip to –"

"Yeah, I know, Palm Springs," the captain finished for him. "You bring me a really good reason for you to go there, and I'll sign off on it. But it's gotta be legit, you hear me." He tried to sound deadly serious but a smile escaped as he turned back into the office and closed the door.

"Did he just throw down the gauntlet?" Tanner asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I believe he did," Steve answered succinctly, trying to suppress a smirk, "and I intend to take him up on his little challenge."

"You and me both," Tanner agreed with an evil chuckle as he turned back to the paperwork on his desk.

# # # # #

He had called Mike just after 6, right before he was going to leave the office for the day. His recovering partner had had a good day, he was told, even taking a long afternoon nap, more than happy to be once again in his own home,

Steve had relayed what little progress he and Tanner had made in the Goodman case, and also passed on the news that the department had received two new murder investigations in the past day and a half. Healey and Haseejian had taken one on, in addition to their continuing probe into the Macklinberg stabbing, and Lessing and Grabowski had taken the second.

Wishing the older man a good, and stress-free, night, and promising to call in the morning, Steve hung up, then sat at his desk for several long minutes, contemplating the evening ahead. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he stood, rolling down his shirtsleeves and picking up his jacket, and left the office with a heavy heart.

# # # # #

He sat in the Porsche for several long minutes, looking at the small house across the street. With a heavy sigh, he picked up the plastic bag from the passenger seat, opened the door and got out. He locked the door and slowly crossed the street, not sure exactly what he was going to say or do but knowing the next few minutes just might determine the direction his life was going to take.

He opened the wrought-iron gate, closing it quietly behind himself before approaching the wooden front door. He raised his fist then waiting several beats before he knocked. He held his breath and closed his eyes.

He heard the lock being turned and opened his eyes, somehow finding a smile. The door swung wide and a beaming Mel appeared. "Well hello, sexy!" She took a step towards him and, on tiptoe, planted a warm kiss on his dry lips then pulled him into the house.

Letting himself be led into the small living room, he glanced around, continuing to smile. "Cathy's not home?"

"No," Mel chuckled evilly, "I told her I'd buy her dinner tonight if she'd, ah, make herself scarce."

"I see it worked," he laughed softly, somehow knowing he was not going to fool her for long. And he didn't.

She nodded towards the plastic bag in his hand. He knew she'd been expecting him to bring a bottle of wine, like he usually did. "What's in there?"

Try as he might, he couldn't keep up the charade and his smile disappeared. He cleared his throat and raised the bag slightly. "Mel, ah…Mel, we need to talk."


	33. Chapter 33

Her eyes slid slowly from the white plastic bag in his hand to his eyes, which were boring into her unrelentingly. Her brow furrowed worriedly. "What, ah, what about…?" she asked hesitantly, realizing quickly that this was probably not going to be a pleasant conversation.

Without taking his eyes from her face, he reached into the plastic bag and took out the distributor cap. He saw her attention flick briefly towards it, the eyes widening almost imperceptibly, the brows rising slightly and the unintentional swallow; the telltale signs, he knew, of guilt. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

And she knew he knew.

She looked at him almost beseechingly, biting her bottom lip. He could see the involuntarily tears spring to her eyes and she inhaled raggedly. "Steve…" she started slowly, staring at his unreadable face, trying to weigh the depth of his anger and disappointment.

He tilted his head. "It _was_ you, wasn't it, Mel?" he asked quietly, and his calm was like a dagger in her heart. "That Sunday afternoon, when I got back from that run into town for ice… and you told me you needed me to catch one more fish…" He paused, continuing to stare without expression. "I left my car keys in the cabin… It took no time at all to open the trunk and grab the lug wrench… did it…?"

Her face started to crumble and a silent sob wracked her small frame. She had raised her hands to her face and was now slowly wringing them. She looked down. "I just wanted us to have one more night together… that's all…" she started to explain, her voice barely above a whisper. "We don't get to see each other very often and it was such a wonderful weekend… I didn't want it to end… and I didn't think you did either…"

He shook his head slowly in chagrin. "Of course I didn't want that weekend to end… but that wasn't your call, Mel… Hell, it's not like I'm a bank manager or a reporter or something… I'm a cop… and I have a partner… and when I'm not there, my partner is alone…"

Tears had started to slide down her flushed cheeks and she was beginning to sob quietly. "I know that… I know that…" Her voice was thin and strained. "I just thought that… I thought –"

"But you _weren't_ thinking, were you?" he snapped, unable to stop himself. The guilt that had festered in him all week, despite Mike's reassurances, hadn't abated and was bubbling to the surface once more. And he couldn't control the edge his voice had taken on. "And because I wasn't there, Mike was almost killed…"

"I know that…" she repeated again, the tears uncontrollable now. "And you don't know how sorry I am… you don't…" she sobbed, reaching out to grab at the lapels of his jacket.

He let her pull him a half-step closer then held his ground again. He shook his head slowly. "You have no idea how close he came to dying, Mel, you really don't… even the doctors said it was a miracle…"

She was staring at him silently, blinking rapidly, the tears coming faster.

He snorted dryly and shook his head again, breathing heavily trough his nose, trying to control his growing anger. "And that shouldn't have happened… it wouldn't've happened if I'd been where I was supposed to be that morning… with him…" He stared at her with unflinchingly aggrieved green eyes. "How can you not understand that?"

"I do understand that, I do," she sobbed quietly, the full realization of what she had done, what could have happened, and what was now at stake in her life, starting to hit home.

He tilted his head and snorted softly. "You do now, right…? But it's a little late, isn't it…?" He inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a profound disappointment had begun to replace the anger. "What if he'd died, Mel? Did you ever think of that? What if he'd died…? What would you have done then…?"

She was staring at him, tears continuing to stream from her red-rimmed eyes, unsteady breaths emanating from her open mouth, her head slowly shaking and her hands still lightly gripping his lapels.

Meeting her eyes without blinking, he punctuated his headshake with a sadly dispirited shrug. "I would never be the same, I know that… and you had to have known that too…" He smiled sadly. "Mike's more than just my partner and you know that as well… I wouldn't've been the same man if he had died… I couldn't be…"

She nodded again, trying to smile. "I know…"

He stared at her silently for several long seconds. "How did you know what to do?" he asked simply.

She pulled her head back slightly and her brow furrowed. "What…?" she asked softly, confused.

"This," he said simply, glancing towards the distributor cap as he held it up again for her to see. "How did you know breaking it would prevent the car from starting?"

A smile almost crossed her tear-streaked face and she dropped her gaze momentarily. "Oh, ah… the boyfriend of a friend of mine… when we were in college… he broke the cap on her old car when she dumped him… for revenge. I, ah, I never forgot that…" She shrugged helplessly.

Shaking his head, he snorted a mirthless laugh.

They stared at each other for a several long silent seconds then he dropped his head and turned back towards the door.

"Don't go," she said quickly, taking a step towards him and reaching out to grab his arm but he pulled it away as he looked at her brokenheartedly and she froze. She inhaled shakily. "Please… stay…"

He held her imploring stare for a long beat then sadly shook his head. "I can't, Mel… not tonight… There's a lot of things I've got to sort out…" He moved to the door and opened it then froze, his head turning back into the room slightly. "You know what hurts me the most?" he asked, almost to himself, his gaze focused on something not in the room.

She stared at him, her red-rimmed eyes brimming once again, breathing rapidly but silently through her open mouth. She almost dared not move.

Very slowly his head turned towards her, his eyes meeting hers without any evident emotion; he looked beaten and hollow. "Even after I told you that Mike was going to be okay, you didn't tell me… You just let me struggle with my guilt, let me go on believing that what happened in Tahoe was nobody's fault… that it was just, I don't know, bad luck or something…" His mind flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Mike the day before, and a tiny, unbidden, affectionate smile washed quickly across his face.

Her bottom lip was trembling. She inhaled raggedly and reached out to touch his arm but he flinched slightly and her hand stopped in midair. "I was scared…" she breathed, tears starting afresh. "I was scared…"

He managed to find a small, almost sympathetic smile. "I bet you were…" He stared into her eyes for a couple of silent, unmoving seconds then pulled the door open and left the small house. He could hear her haunting sobs as he stepped through the wrought-iron gate onto the sidewalk, his hand shaking as he reached into his jacket pocket for his keys.

# # # # #

He had managed to find an empty space so he pulled the Porsche quickly to the curb and turned the engine and lights off.

The sun was just going down and the deep twilight blue sky was cloudless under the waning crescent moon. It was a beautiful summer evening.

But Steve Keller didn't notice. After he had left Mel's, he had driven around aimlessly, trying not to think. He had ended up on Mt. Davidson for no particular reason, getting out of the car to sit on the grass and stare at one of the best views of The City as the sun began to set. When it started to get a little chilly, he got back into the car and closed the windows.

He wasn't sure why he had driven there, sitting in the shadow of the huge concrete cross. He wasn't in the least religious but something about this location was giving him comfort tonight. He hadn't been up here since they had followed Martin Novack after he had shot Mike in the church.

Maybe that's why he was there, he thought with a mental shrug. That had been the last time Mike had been injured in the line of duty, though it didn't slow him down one bit, even at the time. He shook his head with a gentle snort and a brief affectionate smile.

What he had said to Mel kept churning through his mind. He would've been a different man if Mike had been killed in that alley, of that he was more than certain. He shuddered once more at the thought.

Finally making up his mind, he started the car and backed it out of the space in the parking lot of The City's highest peak, then wove his way through Noe Valley and the Mission District to Potrero Hill. It was inevitable he would end up here, he knew.

Now, as the twilight blue was slowing turning black, he was sitting in his beloved Porsche, staring up at his partner's house, torn as to what to do next. He really didn't want to talk about what had just happened, but he also didn't want to go home to an empty apartment right now.

The house was dark, and had been since he'd pulled into the spot across the street. Mike was probably already in bed, most likely catching up on the much needed sleep. He hoped it had been flashback free.

He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there before he turned on the dome light and glanced at his watch. 9:38. He should be getting home, he thought. He had just turned the key in the ignition when the light in the Stone living room snapped on. He froze, staring at it, then slowly turned the key and killed the engine.

He got out and locked the car, pocketing the keys as he slowly crossed the street to the steep concrete stairs that led to the small landing. He looked at the large bay window on the right and the light on behind the curtains. He hesitated a few long beats before he raised his right hand and knocked briskly on the wooden door.

Less than ten seconds later Mike, in slippers and wearing a burgundy dressing gown over a dark blue pajamas, raised an only slightly surprised eyebrow when he opened the door. From the look on his young partner's face, he could tell that something was very wrong, that it most likely wasn't work-related and that Steve was probably not in the mood to talk. They had been here before.

Without a word but with a knowing smile, the older man took a step back and allowed Steve to enter the house, closing the door softly behind him. The younger man crossed to the sofa and sat heavily with a sigh, staring straight ahead.

Mike stood at the door looking at his partner for several long seconds before he moved further into the room. "You look like you could use a drink," he commented softly and the younger man nodded without looking up.

"You got anything stronger than beer?" he asked with a sardonic chuckle.

Mike smiled, his eyebrows rising. "As a matter of fact, I do." He crossed to the sideboard and opened one of the cupboards, taking out an almost full triangular green Glenfiddich bottle. "Someone gave me this a few years ago. As you can see, it doesn't get opened a lot!" he chuckled as he brought it to the coffee table and set it down, then retreated into the kitchen, returning very shortly with two small Lexington whiskey glasses and the carton of milk.

He set them all down on the coffee table then picked up the bottle, opening it and pouring out what looked like a very healthy jigger into one of the glasses before, with a moderately hangdog expression, pouring milk into the other. He picked up both glasses, handing the whiskey to his partner before he sat in the recliner next to the sofa. He leaned forward and held out his glass.

With a heavy sigh, Steve sat forward then, with a sad smile and staring into his partner's calm and sympathetic blue eyes, they clinked glasses.


	34. Chapter 34

He woke up slowly, disoriented. His head was pounding and his dry mouth tasted like a sewer, or at least what he thought a sewer would taste like. He tried to swallow but the back his throat felt like it was coated with slivers of glass. Even his eyes felt dry as he opened them carefully, squinting at the muted sunlight trying to crawl its way around the closed curtains.

He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked around the room, belatedly recognizing it as his partner's living room. There was light blanket over him and it took two tries to pull it off before he could swing his feet to the floor.

The room began to sway. Putting both hands on the sofa cushions, he braced himself until it started to slow down, then raised his head in the general direction of the kitchen. He could hear someone puttering around.

Trying to blink normally, he looked around the room again. His jacket and tie were lying neatly over the arm of the recliner, his shoes waiting patiently by the door. The coffee table had been cleared and cleaned. He raised his left arm to look at his watch but it wasn't there. His eyes circled the room again but he couldn't see it anywhere.

Mike, in a checked shirt and beige Dockers, stuck his head out of the kitchen, smiling when he spotted Steve awake and sitting up. He ducked back in and crossed to the counter, pouring freshly-brewed coffee into a large mug and adding a splash of milk. Stirring quickly, he took it with him into the living room. "Well, good morning!" he grinned when he saw the younger man start with alarm, turning a surprised frown in his direction.

He stopped in front of the coffee table and held the mug close to the younger man's face. Steve's heavy-lidded eyes travelled slowly from the mug to his partner's grinning visage then, without a word or a change of expression, took the proffered cup in both hands, took a long sip then looked up gratefully. "Thanks…" he mumbled, "that's exactly what I needed."

"Yeah, I know," Mike chuckled as he headed back into the kitchen. "Are you hungry?" he called over his shoulder as he disappeared.

Running his tongue over his teeth, he nodded then realized Mike couldn't see him. "Uh, yeah," he called out as loud as he dared, wincing as the dull throb in his head magnified itself.

"Oh, almost forgot," Mike announced as he reentered the living room at a slow jog, pulling a small white plastic bottle with a red label out of his shirt pocket and setting it on the coffee table. "Here - you might want to take one or two of those," he chuckled again as he returned to the kitchen.

Putting the mug down, knowing it would take two hands to open the Tylenol bottle, Steve shook his head affectionately as he picked it up. Trust Mike not to miss a trick, he thought.

He had just swallowed two pills when the older man appeared in the doorway again. "Breakfast'll be ready in a few minutes. Why don't you, ah… avail yourself of the facilities and then join me in here." He watched as the words sank slowly into his partner's hungover brain.

Finally making eye contact again, Steve nodded, setting the mug down once more and using both hands to push himself unsteadily to his feet. He could feel Mike's benevolent stare follow him as he staggered towards the stairs and the second floor bathroom.

His smile disappearing, replaced by a worried frown, Mike returned to the stove. Satisfied that the greased skillet was now sufficiently hot enough, he poured the batter in small silver dollar-size dollops. As he waited patiently, metal flipper in hand, he glanced almost involuntarily over his shoulder.

They had spent the bulk of their evening in almost complete silence. Mike knew the young man was waging a fierce internal struggle and he was pretty sure he knew what it was about, but it was not his position to inquire. And if Steve wanted to share the quandary he found himself going through, then he would when the time was right. And if that time never came, Mike was all right with that as well.

He was just starting to flip the small pancakes when he heard a heavy thumping on the stairs and his young partner appeared in the doorway, looking slightly better than before. He seemed to have washed his face and found a comb.

Mike eyed him sympathetically. "You want more coffee?"

"Oh yes, please," came the quiet response.

Mike nodded towards the living room. "Get me your cup."

Frowning in confusion then realizing what the older man meant, Steve turned, his hand on the wall, and staggered out of view, returning a few seconds later with the mug in his hand.

Finished flipping the pancakes, Mike stared at his somewhat helpless partner, chuckling quietly as he took the cup and refilled it, adding milk before putting it back in the younger man's hand. "Why don't you have a seat?" he suggested lightly, suppressing a smile as he nodded at the already set table. _"Before you fall down,"_ went unspoken but implied.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Steve mumbled as he crossed the small kitchen and dropped heavily into one of the chairs. He looked up and managed a small smile. "That smells great."

Glancing at him from the stove, Mike chuckled. "It's those pancakes I made for Jeannie."

Steve's smile got a little wider. "Excellent…" he crowed happily, suddenly sounding much younger than his thirty years.

Mike turned back to the stove, trying to suppress a broad grin. He cleared his throat. "So, ah, how are you feeling?"

The silence was so long that he looked over at the table again. Steve was frowning, staring at a space about three feet from the fridge and just above the floor. His head came up slowly and he looked at the older man. "Humh… what?"

"I said how are you feeling?" Mike repeated himself.

"Oh, ah… crappy, if you must know…" His brow furrowed. "How much did I have to drink last night?"

Mike turned off the stove and put an over mitt on his left hand. "Oh, enough, I would say…" He picked up the skillet, gritting his teeth and trying not to wince, and crossed the short distance to the table. As he flipped the small pancakes onto the two plates, he stared at the top of his young friend's head, his brow furrowing with worry. Finished, he turned back to put the now empty skillet on a cold back burner.

Steve picked up the glass syrup dispenser and started to pour it over the short stack when he suddenly froze. He looked up quickly, putting the dispenser down with a thud and starting to get unsteadily to his feet. "Jeez, what time is it? I don't have my watch on. I'm late for work."

Mike held both hands out. "Relax, relax, your watch is in your jacket pocket and you're not going in to work today. I called Roy a couple of hours ago and told him you were taking the day off."

Sinking slowly back down onto the chair, Steve's frown deepened. "A couple of hours ago…? What time is it?"

Glancing pointedly at the clock on the wall above the door, Mike announced with a smile, "Almost 10."

His bloodshot eyes sliding slowly to the clock, Steve stared at it for several silent seconds.

"Come on," Mike urged softly, "eat your pancakes before they get cold." He slipped into the chair on the other side of the table and picked up his knife to spread a bit of butter on his own silver dollars. He watched with affectionate benevolence as Steve picked up his knife and fork and slowly began cutting the small pancakes into bite-sized pieces.

They ate in companionable silence.

When they'd finished, Steve sat back with a soft sigh and closed his eyes.

Mike wiped his mouth with the napkin and tossed it on the table, studying his young friend. When Steve finally opened his eyes a slit, he asked softly, "Feeling a little better?"

The younger man's eyes opened slightly wider and he managed a soft smile. "Yeah…" he said quietly, "yeah… thanks…"

Mike cocked his head, smiling fondly. "Anytime."

Steve sat forward, pushing the plate away slightly so he could lean his forearms on the table, looking down.

Mike watched and waited. When he thought the time was right, he asked softly, "So, is there anything you want to talk to me about?"

The haunted green eyes rose slowly to meet the patient and welcoming blue ones. Neither man moved for a couple of long beats then Steve shook his head slightly and slumped back in the chair. He inhaled deeply. "It was Mel, Mike," he said simply.

"Who broke the distributor cap?" the other man asked matter-of-factly and Steve froze for a split second then nodded with a sardonic snort. Mike's smile was wistfully understanding. "I remembered you telling me about it that first day… there was something I was trying to piece together and I just couldn't put my finger on it…"

"Gee, I wonder why…?" Steve interrupted gently with a small ironic smile and they both chuckled softly, sharing the moment.

"Anyway…" Mike continued slowly, raising his eyebrows pointedly, "I know from long experience that distributor caps don't just break… spontaneously…" He paused and took a deep breath. "And with it just being the two of you up there in Tahoe, well, there wasn't any other conclusion to come to, was there…?"

Steve shook his head sadly, looking down. He took a deep breath. "No… no, there sure wasn't… I was kinda hoping it had just, you know, cracked on its own… but I knew in my heart that wasn't what happened… Then when Gino confirmed it…" He exhaled loudly and squeezed his eyes closed.

Mike waited a few seconds before asking gently, "What did she tell you?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Steve snorted a bitter laugh. "She told me she just wanted us to spend another night together…" He opened his eyes. "And I did, Mike, I really did, I'm not denying that… But I knew I had to be back first thing Monday morning, that we had three open cases, and that I would never leave you alone if I couldn't help it…" His words had started to come faster and faster, as if he suddenly needed to be believed.

"Hey, hey," Mike interjected softly, raising both hands, "you don't need to convince me…" He smiled warmly. "I know how diligent you are about your job… and I'm the last person that would ever question your loyalty, you know that, right?"

Steve hung his head, suitably chagrined. When he looked up again, his eyes were bright and he was struggling to smile. "I let you down and I'm sorry –"

"Hey," Mike interrupted again, more forcefully this time. "You didn't let me down… you've never let me down," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "Don't ever say that again… please…" He stared at his young partner compassionately, without blinking, until finally the younger man dropped his eyes and nodded. "What happened to me last week had nothing to do with you being with me or not being with me… it just happened… all right?" He continued to stare, hoping to get his point across.

"Like I told you before, what that scared rookie did wasn't because of anything either one of us did. It just happened. But I'm still here and I'm okay and you and I will be going back to work just like we always do. Do you believe me?"

Almost reluctantly, the younger man nodded. He had raised his right hand and had been running his index finger over his lips as he'd listened, once again awed by the simple and honest humanity of this man he was honoured to call his partner and proud to call his best friend.

Smiling, Mike pushed the chair back, getting up and crossing to the counter, returning with the percolator and refilling their cups. He sat back down, picking up the mug to cradle in his hands as he leaned back and crossed his legs. His candid blue eyes fastened themselves on the younger man once again, and he took a slow sip of coffee before he asked gently, "So, what are you going to do?"

Steve looked up slowly from his study of the coffee in his cup. "About Mel?" he asked, his voice sounding as far away as his thoughts.

"Umh-humh," Mike nodded.

With a barely discernable shrug and shaking his head slightly, he said quietly, "I don't know, Mike, I really don't…" He took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "There's a lot of things I have to weigh, I guess…"

Mike nodded again. "Yes, there are. But don't think you have to make a decision fast… that's not the answer. You know what's at stake here… so take your time. There's no rush. And you have to make sure that whatever decision you do make is the right one for you… the _only one_ for you. Do you understand me?"

Steve was staring at him, hanging on every word. He nodded slowly.

Mike smiled. "Good." He unfolded his arms and sat forward. Leaning over the table, he put his right hand on the younger man's forearm and squeezed. "And just know that whatever decision you make, I'm behind you one hundred percent. And I always will be."


	35. Chapter 35

"You're sure you're okay to drive?" Mike inquired of him again as he stepped out onto the landing.

With a soft, affectionate snort, Steve nodded once more. "I'm fine… you don't have to keep asking."

It was just after 1 pm and the sun was high and intense, a gorgeous San Francisco July mid-week afternoon. They had spent the remainder of the morning discussing the Goodman case and what was going on at the office, Mike deliberately steering the conversation in a different direction for a much-needed respite.

Steve did the cleaning up, insisting on washing and drying the dishes while his still-recovering partner sat at the kitchen table, finishing off what was left of the coffee. Then he was sent on his way, with Mike's injunctions ringing in his ears: he was to head straight home, shower and change, and then go somewhere – a long drive, maybe, or a walk. But he had to get out of the house, he had to do something physical… and he had to think.

The seasoned cop knew that he wouldn't be getting his partner back, in every way that was necessary for them to do their job properly, if the current situation wasn't resolved… one way or the other. He had provided an ear, as he always did, but declined to offer his opinion; after all, it wasn't his life and it wasn't his decision. Luckily, Steve hadn't asked what he thought, but he knew he probably would not have told him if he had. His words, and his judgment, held more sway with his young partner than they probably should, he admitted to himself, and he wasn't about to jeopardize this very special relationship.

He stood in the open doorway and watched until the Porsche drove out of sight, then slowly closed the door. Turning back into the room, his right hand going automatically to cover the healing wound in his chest, he crossed to the armchair and sat with care, catching his breath slightly as the still torn and bruised muscles made themselves known.

He laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He had probably done a little more that morning that he should have at this point in his recovery, but it had been necessary and he didn't regret the discomfort he was now experiencing.

As he waited for the inevitable lethargy that preceded sleep, his mind drifted back to their breakfast conversation. The one thing that had sprung to his mind, but that he hadn't voiced, was his recollection of the conversation he had shared with his daughter after their July 4th barbeque. _"Clingy,"_ was the word Jeannie had used about Mel, he remembered, as well as her observation that if one half of a couple was excessively clingy, they usually didn't stay a couple for long.

As he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, he wondered if that was what would happen here.

# # # # #

The shower and the change of clothes had helped to elevate his mood slightly, but the black cloud that was hanging over his head since he'd left Mel's house so many hours ago was still there. He was back behind the wheel of the Porsche, just like Mike had ordered, and he was driving, but he still wasn't sure where he was going.

He found himself on the 101, heading north, and suddenly it came to him. His destination was preordained, he thought, chuckling softly to himself.

Minutes later, he turned off the highway just north of the Golden Gate Bridge onto Conzelman Road, taking its twists and turns slowly until he reached the Pacific coast and Rodeo Cove. He parked in the half-empty lot, locking the car and pocketing the keys, breathing in the cool ocean breeze for several long seconds before he started towards the water.

He climbed down to the beach and started to walk along the rocky shore. For a mid-week afternoon in the middle of summer, it was fairly deserted, which was exactly what he required right now. He didn't want to be anti-social, but he also didn't want to be constantly acknowledging greetings. He needed to think and he needed his privacy in order to do that properly, he knew.

He looked up at the occasional whitecaps dotting the deep blue of the ocean as it lapped lazily against the small stones that made up Rodeo Beach. He snorted quietly to himself, a warm smile curling his lips. It was less than two weeks ago that Mike had brought him here, introducing him to this healing patch of solitude so close to The City.

Putting his thick dark glasses on, he stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and dropped his head, the smile disappearing. Two weeks, he thought; two weeks that had come very close to changing his life forever… that still might change his life forever.

Talking to Mike about what Mel had done helped get most of the angst, guilt and doubt out in the open, but had done nothing to help him even begin to come to grips with how he now felt about Mel and what she had done – to him and to Mike.

They had all been extremely lucky, he knew – his partner's doubts aside. Mike had survived and would fully recover and, because of that, eventually life would go on for him and his partner much as it had before. But his relationship with Mel right now was another story altogether.

He could forgive her the error in judgment with regards to the distributor cap; he really believed that her only motive had been her desire for them to spend one more glorious night together in that magical Tahoe cabin. But could he find it in his heart to forgive her for the consequences of those actions, of Mike being left on his own, the misfortune of his path crossing that a of a scared young rookie and the tiny piece of lead that almost robbed him of his life.

And beyond that, even after she knew about the shooting, her failure to tell him what she had done and to own up to her actions and their consequences. Could he ever forgive her for that?

All those thoughts were churning through his mind as he walked, his head down and his hands still in his pockets, across the wide pebbly beach. He knew it was a decision he probably wouldn't be making today, there was too much to consider. But the solitude, the fresh ocean air, and the simple fact that he was secure in the knowledge that his partner had his back whatever he decided, were exactly what he needed at this moment in his life.

# # # # #

The sun was going down as the Porsche slid into the space at the curb. As he turned off the engine, he looked almost reluctantly across the street at his apartment, half expecting to see Mel waiting for him on the steps. But no one was there.

With a relieved sigh, he got out of the car and locked it before heading across the pavement and up the stairs.

He turned on the living room light then dropped heavily onto the couch, picking up the phone and dropping it on his lap before lifting the receiver and dialing; Mike answered after second ring.

"Hey," he said by way of greeting and he heard the older man chuckle.

"So, ah, you do what I told ya and got outa the house?"

"Yeah," he said with soft laugh, "yeah, I headed over to Rodeo Beach. Just got back."

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "Yeah, it's a good place to clear your head…" There was another short pause. "So, ah, you still thinking… or…?" He left the unasked question hanging.

"Yeah… yeah," Steve said simply, and it was all the older man needed to hear.

"Okay, well, ah, get a good night's sleep tonight, okay? And, ah, call me sometime tomorrow. Let me know what's going on with the case."

"Yeah. You get a good night's sleep too, okay? Let me know if you have any problem."

"I will," Mike promised, belatedly realizing he had managed to make it through the previous night without a hitch, probably because he had something else to worry about for a change. He smiled to himself. "Hey, ah, do me a favor, will ya, and get to bed without, you know… imbibing something stronger than a Coke?" He tried to keep it light but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. He was relieved to hear the younger man chuckle.

"Don't worry, I won't. I think it'll be awhile till I tie one on that tight again… Listen, ah, you have a good night and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay," came the gentle reply.

"Oh, and, ah, Mike… thanks for last night and this morning…okay…?"

There was a long pause, then a quiet, "Anytime, and you know that, right? Talk to you tomorrow." The line went dead, and Steve knew his older friend wanted to end the conversation before he said more than he should.

Mike often came across as a gruff old bear, but those who knew him knew he was one of the kindest, gentlest men they would ever know. Steve had heard a phrase once that had stuck with him, that there is nothing stronger than a man who is gentle. He had never met a stronger man than Mike Stone.

With a lump at the back of his throat, he hung up the phone and retuned it to the endtable. Then, wearily, though it was only a little past 9, he got to his feet and headed to his bedroom. He was determined to really get a good night's sleep tonight and show up for work tomorrow clearheaded and focused. He owed at least that much to Mike.

# # # # #

Tanner eyed him almost warily when he walked into the bullpen the next morning. And Steve had the sneaking suspicion that Devitt had put the word out, subtly of course, that Steve was to be treated with, if not kid gloves, then an understanding touch for the next few days.

But he wasn't to know he was getting any special treatment, and that edict had come from the boss himself. If anyone let slip that Mike had spoken to Devitt about his partner, there would be hell to pay for sure.

Steve swallowed a smile and vowed he would never let his best friend know.

"So," the black detective said amiably as Steve dropped his coat on the back of his chair and sat. Tanner slid smoothly onto the guest chair. "It turns out that that Palm Springs lead may be panning out after all." When his colleague's brows rose, he grinned and continued, "Seems our Mr. Goodman might actually be one John Alan Trammel, a small-time used car lot owner, big time gambler and medium-sized womanizer."

"Any of which could've gotten him killed," Steve added with a chuckle.

"Exactly."

"So who reported him missing?"

"The Palm Springs Police Department. They actually went to serve him a warrant with regards to a couple of shady car deals and they found fresh blood in his house and he was nowhere around."

"Do they know if the blood is his?"

"It's the same type but no, they can't be positive, of course."

Steve snorted softly. "So, do they have any suspects?"

Tanner laughed. "Dozens, they said. And they really didn't sound like they wanted to pursue them all… or even some of them. In fact, when I told them that Goldman may have wound up here, dead, they seemed… how shall I put it? Overjoyed I think is too mild a term."

Steve chuckled. "I bet."

"Anyway, they've hinted at, but not provided us proof, by the way, that the fingerprints match – and I have no explanation for that. But I've sent them some pictures of our late Mr. Goldman and we'll let them see if they think it's the same guy. If they think he is, they've invited us to come down and have a look at the house and, you know, interview as many people as we'd like," he said, his voice dripping irony.

"But he was killed here. Why do they think we should investigate what happened down there?"

Tanner tilted his head and smiled. "Because they think someone from down there came up here and did him in."

"Well, that's convenient, isn't it? I mean, for them."

"Isn't it? Anyway, I told them that you were the lead on it and I would have to run this all past you before any decision was made."

"Does Roy know about all this?"

Tanner nodded. "Yeah, I've kept him in the loop."

"What does he think?"

"I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I think he might agree to one of us going down there and having a look for himself."

Steve grinned. "Only one of us, hunh?"

"That's what he said." Tanner chuckled quietly.

Steve leaned forward over the desk. "Let, ah, let me have all you've got on your conversations with the Palm Springs department… and then I'll go and have a little chat with our interim boss."

With a chuckle, Tanner got up and crossed to his desk.

Steve looked towards the inner office. Through the glass walls he could see Devitt on the phone at Mike's desk. He really wanted to go to Palm Springs, not only to hopefully advance their case but it would also give him an excuse to avoid the Mel situation… at least temporarily.

Now he just had to convince the captain.


	36. Chapter 36

He picked up the flight bag, set it on the bed and rifled through it once more to make sure he had all he needed. After the requisite hemming and hawing, Captain Devitt had given him permission to head down to Palm Springs to follow up on the possible connection to the Goodman case. He would drive there today, spend Friday going over everything the PSPD had put together and come back Saturday.

By then, he hoped, it would have come to a decision regarding his future with Mel.

He did up the top zipper on his flight bag, picked up his keys and jacket and left the apartment, locking the door and jogging down the steps and across the street to the tan LTD. He opened the back door and tossed the bag on the seat then opened the driver's door. He was almost all the way in when a very familiar voice said, "Good morning," and he jumped, surprised, his head spinning towards the passenger seat.

Mike, dressed in khakis and a light blue dress shirt with a buttoned-down collar, was sitting in the passenger seat, beaming. "You know, you really shouldn't leave the car unlocked like that."

Staring wide-eyed at the unexpected sight, Steve allowed himself to get all the way in behind the wheel before asking, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Me?" the older man replied, with wide-eyed innocence. "Oh, uh, I'm coming along to keep you company."

"You're coming along?"

Mike nodded enthusiastically. "Umh-humh."

Steve shook his head slowly in confusion, his brow furrowed. "Mike… you're still on sick leave… you –"

"Oh, I'm not coming along in any official capacity. You don't have to worry about that." He shrugged with a goofy grin. "I'm getting kinda bored sitting around the house and I thought, 'Hey, Steve's going on a road trip. I can go with him, maybe do a little driving… it'll give me something to do…'"

"You're still recovering, remember?"

"I know," the older man agreed with a vigorous nod "but I'm doing great, as you well know, and I talked to my doctor –"

"You did?"

"Yes, I did. Honestly."

Steve stared at him.

Mike tilted his head, narrowed his eyes and harrumphed. "If you don't believe me, give him a call." After a short pause, he continued, "As a matter of fact, he said a little exercise would do me some good."

"Exercise…? Sitting in a car all day…?"

"I mean following you around Palm Springs all day tomorrow."

"Oh, I see…" Steve said slowly, warming to the idea but still feeling the need to put up some kind of roadblock just to make it interesting. "Does Roy know you're doing this?" he asked suspiciously, knowing the captain was the one who most likely told Mike about the road trip in the first place.

"Roy who?" Mike responded with knit eyebrows, pretending to look confused.

Tongue planted firmly in cheek, Steve suppressed a smirk. "Roy Devitt, remember him?"

"Oh _that_ Roy. Oh yeah, he knows. He thinks it's a good idea too."

"Hunh… funny that…" Steve looked in the back seat; Mike's overnight bag was near the passenger side door, a garment bag draped overtop and the fedora sitting on top of that. "You, ah, you brought a suit…?"

Mike glanced over his shoulder. "That? Oh, ah, yeah… well, you know, I figured if I'm going to be, you know, accompanying you tomorrow with the Palm Springs PD, well, maybe I'd better look the part, you know…?"

"Umh-hunh. Okay… So, ah, so where are you going to sleep for the next couple of nights?"

"Sleep…? Umh, well, ah, Roy suggested – and I agreed, of course – that it wouldn't cost too much more for a double room instead of, you know, a single… and I sorta thought that… you know, maybe… it wouldn't be too big of an… inconvenience…" He grinned optimistically.

Steve stared at him without expression, and the hopeful grin began to waver slightly. After several seconds, taking pity, the younger man smiled warmly, shaking his head slowly as he chuckled. "It won't be an… inconvenience at all… and I, ah… I'd love the company…"

"Really?" Mike eyebrows rose quickly and the grin returned. He chuckled as he turned in the seat to look out the windshield. "Great. Well, ah," he glanced across the seat and gestured out the front window, "shall we go? Time's a-wastin'."

With a dry chuckle, and under his breath, Steve muttered, "It is, is it?" as he turned the key and the engine roared to life. As he pulled the large sedan away from the curb, he shook his head, unable to stop a grin from emerging.

# # # # #

Wearing sunglasses, Mike was staring out the open side window as the tan LTD flew down the 5 through the San Joaquin Valley. They had just passed Bakersfield, with its farmland spreading out on both sides of the highway, and were approaching The Grapevine.

"Jeez, I haven't been down this way in a long time!" he yelled over the roar of the wind and Steve nodded.

"Me neither! I usually always go north!"

Conversation had been at a premium since they had left The City, both of them enjoying the open road and the company, feeling no need to fill in the silences. Steve knew Mike would want to go over the facts of the Goodman case at some point before tomorrow, to make sure they were both on top of their game, but that would most likely be the dinnertime topic.

For now they were both content to just revel in the freedom of the day, the beautiful cloudless sky, and the knowledge that whatever either of them was facing, whether in the present or in the future, they were always going to face it together. It gave both of them an inner peace that neither of them would deny or easily give up.

Closing up the window so he could be heard, Mike nodded. "Say, ah, at the rate we're going, we're gonna be in Palm Springs around dinnertime. I did a little digging last night when I found out about this little, ah, road trip. And there's a restaurant just south of the Springs in Indian Wells… it's called The Nest, and they say it's a real hot spot."

"A hot spot, hunh?" Steve asked, deadpan. "Who told you that?"

Mike swallowed heavily. "Well, ah, there's only one person I know that's been to Palm Springs and, ah, and he told me about it…"

"Okay… and, ah, just who would this person be?" Steve persisted.

"Well, ah," the older man cleared his throat, "well, that would be Rudy."

Steve glanced across the front seat, frowning. "Rudy…?"

Nodding, Mike smiled uneasily, anticipating the grief he knew would be coming.

"Rudy… Not quite the oracle of… the current restaurant scene in Southern California I wouldn't think…" He saw Mike's smile beginning to fade. "But I could be wrong… Sure, let's give it a try," he chuckled warmly, taking his partner off the hook.

Looking very relieved, Mike's smile turned into a grin and he laughed. "Oh, and, ah, it's on me tonight, Smiley."

"No…" Steve started to shake his head.

"No no no, I want it to be on me tonight. My treat. Okay?"

Glancing across the front seat again, the younger man was struck by the unconcealed affection he could see in his partner's face and his voice caught in his throat. He coughed slightly, struggling to smile, and he nodded. "Okay… your treat."

"Great," Mike punctuated the word with a sharp nod, turning to look out the side window, opening it again. "Good…"

Grateful he was wearing his dark glasses, it took Steve several long moments and lots of blinks to clear the moisture from his eyes.

# # # # #

"So, ah, do you think you might owe Rudy at least a mental apology?" Mike asked innocently, looking down at his plate as he sliced off another small piece of his filet mignon and trying not to grin. They were sitting on the burgundy leather banquette of the plush booth in the red brick walled main dining room of The Nest. Almost every table was occupied.

"What?" Steve asked around his mouthful of lamb, his fork in midair and his brow furrowed.

Mike popped the piece of steak into his mouth, smiling as he chewed, his eyebrows raised. Waiting till he swallowed, he said with a chuckle, "You gotta admit, this _is_ a nice place, isn't it? And I know you thought, well, maybe… I mean, Rudy…"

"I know, I know," the younger man admitted with a bobble of his head and sheepish grin. "I apologize to the… ether," he chuckled, twirling his empty fork in midair, "for my lack of confidence in his… taste in restaurants…"

Laughing under his breath, Mike speared the last of his filet. "So, ah, what do you and Bill hope to get out of this little trip?"

Steve shrugged. "Well, if this Trammel guy ends up being our Mr. Goodman, that's going to open a lot of doors, I think. This guy is a triple threat – and I don't mean running, passing and kicking. We're gonna have to eliminate everyone in all three aspects of his life – and that is going to take some time, that's for sure. Have you ever had a case where your victim lived in another city and that's where all the suspects were?"

Mike shrugged. "A couple, but nothing like this. From what you say, it sounds like maybe half of Palm Springs wanted to off this guy."

The waiter approached their table and discreetly picked up the empty plates and used cutlery and quietly disappeared after taking their coffee orders. As Mike sat back, picking up the napkin from his lap and placing it on the table, he tried to mask a wince.

Steve watched him with a frown. "Are you okay?"

"Humh?" Mike grunted, looking up. "Oh yeah, I'm fine… just a little stiff…" He punctuated his words with a reassuring smile.

"Listen, uh, why don't we get outa here after we have our coffee. Get to the motel and you can lie down and get a good night's sleep. How does that sound?"

Mike's brow knit. "Don't you want any dessert?"

Knowing how much the evening was already going to cost the older man, Steve shook his head. "I'm full, I don't need any. I'm good."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. You?"

"No, I'm good too," Mike admitted. He knew what his partner was doing and he was grateful. And, if he was honest with himself, the long drive had taken a lot out of him. The ache in his chest was getting a little harder to ignore. He had brought his bottle of painkillers with him and was hoping to take a pill or two without Steve knowing; he didn't want the younger man to worry.

He really had spoken to his doctor, who told him he could make the trip but that he would probably experience some discomfort. He was also told that he was healing very well and any pain he would feel would be temporary, muscular in nature, and not to worry about it.

That was all fine and good for him to know but trying to convince his young friend that he was all right would be a challenge he really wasn't up to at the moment, so discretion was to become his watchword tonight. He only hoped he could pull it off.

# # # # #

The bathroom door opened and Mike emerged in his pajamas. He had managed to down two pills in the restaurant without the younger man seeing him and thankfully they were starting to take effect.

He crossed to his bag to put his clothes away when he glanced at the single bed and stopped, then dropped his head and chuckled. The bed he was using was piled high with pillows. He turned his questioning eyes on his grinning partner, who was about to take his toiletries bag into the bathroom.

"I went to the office and asked them for some more pillows. It's easier on you right now if you sleep sitting up, isn't it?"

Mike was gently shaking his head, smiling. "Yes, it is," he admitted self-consciously.

"Knock yourself out," Steve chuckled, gesturing at the pillows as he disappeared into the bathroom.

With an affectionate sigh, Mike crossed to the bed and rearranged the pillows, then carefully got in and leaned back. It didn't take long to find a comfortable position and the ache, thankfully, was almost gone. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

He stared at the ceiling as he heard the faint sounds coming from the bathroom. He was well aware of the guilt the younger man still felt about what had happened, and no amount of talking would take that away, he knew. What Steve needed was his partner at his side – and that was why Mike wanted to come along on this trip. They were a team, they _are _a team, he thought, and he wasn't going to let anything, even his health, keep them apart right now. He closed his eyes. He _was_ tired, he admitted to himself, and he was sound asleep well before Steve re-entered the room.

He stood near the bathroom door, watching his sleeping partner with a soft smile. He knew why Mike was here and he was grateful, more grateful than he could put into words. He slid into the other bed and turned off the light but it would be a couple of hours before he would finally drift off to sleep. He had hoped to concentrate on the case he would be investigating in the morning… but his thoughts kept returning to Mel.


	37. Chapter 37

They had breakfast in the small coffee shop attached to the motel they were staying in just outside the city limits then headed into town and the police department. The appointment with the detectives with the Crimes Against People division was scheduled for 8 am.

It was 7:55 and already very warm when the tan LTD turned into the parking lot behind the single-storey grey building fronted by several tall palm trees. Steve was dressed in his usual muted brown tones, his tied done up, and he was carrying the folder he'd brought from San Francisco; Mike was wearing his charcoal grey suit and his fedora.

The older man looked over the roof as he slammed the door. "Sure glad I didn't bring my vest," he chuckled. "It's hotter here than it was at home!"

The building was, thankfully, air-conditioned. Steve introduced himself to the sergeant at the front desk, who made a phone call and moments later a blond, very tanned plainclothes officer not much older than himself came down the hallway. Spotting the two obvious detectives standing near the desk, he approached with an outstretched hand and a frown.

"Inspector Keller…?" he asked tentatively, his eyes snapping from Steve to Mike and back again.

Mike, who had his hands behind his back, was shaking his head with a closed-mouth grin. Steve took a step forward and shook the PS detective's hand. "That'd be me," he said with a confirming nod and a smile.

The other man's eyebrows rose. "Ah… Sergeant Waters. Call me Pete."

"Pete, good to meet you. I'm Steve." Releasing the other man's hand, he nodded towards his partner. "This is, ah –"

"Mike," he said quickly, stepping forward to grab Waters hand and shake it vigorously. "Pete, is it?"

Steve shot him a look, his brows knit.

"Yes," Waters nodded, looking a little confused as to who this older man actually was, and turned his attention back to Steve. "Welcome to Palm Springs, gentlemen. If you'll follow me, I've put what we've got on John Trammel in one of our interview rooms. There's a lot of pictures of the guy, so you should be able to make a positive I.D., and we have those partial prints you asked for as well. I've also given you a map of the town with his car lot and his house on it, plus the keys to both his house and his business." He started to walk down the corridor; Steve fell into step beside him, Mike trailing slightly behind.

"It's, ah… it's all pretty self-explanatory," Waters continued, glancing over his shoulder at the tall older man, who smiled at him benevolently, "Trammel wasn't the most popular guy in town. There's gonna be a lot of suspects."

"Any of them, you think, would've gone all the way up to San Francisco to murder him?"

Waters tilted his head and snorted. "At least a half dozen, but I'll let you decide which ones you think they might be. You know… kind of a Chinese wall…?"

Steve nodded.

They had reached a closed door and Waters opened it onto a small windowless office with a metal table and four chairs. There were two stacks of manila file folders on the table, a legal length yellow pad and a several pens.

"Here you go," Waters said, standing at the door as the two visitors moved past him into the small room. "I'll, ah, I'll leave you to it, and if you have any questions, I'm just down the hall," he pointed to his left, "in CAPS. I'm here till six, so if you get through all this by then and you want to bounce some ideas off me and some of the other guys in the squad…?" He shrugged and smiled.

Steve looked at the pile of folders then back to Waters. "That's quite the stack of files," he chuckled then nodded at the PS detective. "Well, I better get started. Thanks." He started to take off his jacket, glancing at Mike, who was standing in the corner, trying to look inconspicuous and not doing a very good job of it.

"Oh, ah, there's coffee in our break room just down the hall back the way we came – just go past the front desk and it's two doors further down on the left. It's the honor system – and the coffee's not bad, all things considered. And there's a bunch of small diners and restaurants in the neighborhood if you need to get some lunch." He glanced towards the files. "Good luck." He backed out of the room and closed the door.

Tossing his jacket on the back of one of the chairs, Steve looked at his partner. "What was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

"'Mike'…? I mean, seriously, you know he's trying to figure out who you are. I told them yesterday I was coming down here alone. I'm pretty sure he doesn't think you're my father so, ah, what? Who are you? My baby-sitter…?"

Mike's brow furrowed as he looked down. "Oh… I didn't think of that." His head came up and he smiled wanly. "I guess I'll, ah, I'll introduce myself properly when we see him the next time. Sorry about that."

Chuckling, Steve shook his head as he sat. "No problem, I'll survive." He picked the top folder off one of the stacks and opened it.

Laughing, Mike took off his fedora and dropped it on a corner of the table, then took off his own jacket, draped it over the back of a chair opposite his partner and sat. As he reached for the top folder on the second pile, he looked at Steve. "Guess you're glad I decided to come after all, hunh?" He looked from one pile of folders to the other as he reached behind himself to fish his reading glasses out of his inside jacket pocket.

Glancing up from the file, Steve smiled and shook his head again. "You gonna talk or you gonna read?"

"Yes, sir," Mike laughed, starting to roll up his sleeves as his eyes scanned the top page of the thick folder.

# # # # #

Having established that John Alan Trammel was indeed their mysterious Mr. Goodman, they had gone through more than a half-dozen of the files when Mike looked over the top of his glasses. "Hey, ah, what's that 'Chinese wall' Waters mentioned?"

Steve's head came up, frowning for a second as he processed what he'd just been asked. Then he smiled suddenly. "Oh, uh, that just means he wasn't going to tell us anything before we had a chance to study the files so he wouldn't prejudice what, if anything, we find."

Mike, eyebrows rising, tilted his head with a facial shrug. "Hunh… so that's a Chinese wall…" He smiled. "Thanks." He looked back down at the file in front of him.

Across the table, Steve looked at the top of his partner's head, smiling affectionately before his attention returned to the papers in his hands.

# # # # #

Steve tossed a folder on the table, stretched and glanced at his watch. He looked across the table; Mike was still engrossed in the file he'd been studying, making notes on the loose yellow legal sheets that Steve had torn from the pad.

The younger man cleared his throat. Mike finished making another note before he looked up, eyes a question.

Steve had stood, picking up his jacket and putting it on. "Lunch."

Startled, Mike looked at his own watch. Chuckling, he took off his glasses as he got to his feet. As he put his jacket on, his eyes took in the ordered chaos on the table. "Well, we're almost through. Want to get something and bring it back?"

"Work through lunch, you mean?"

"Well, we only have today, right?" He reached across the table and picked up his hat.

"You read my mind, Lieutenant," Steve chuckled as he opened the door, gesturing for his partner to precede him out into the corridor.

They were almost passed the front desk when Waters and another man entered the building. The PSPD detective stopped, frowning slightly at Mike before smiling at Steve. "Inspector Keller and, ah… Mike, ah… this is my partner, Sergeant McCann."

"Charlie," the tall dark-haired, heavy-set detective grinned, shaking first Steve's hand then Mike's.

"Steve," the young San Francisco cop said with a smile before tossing a pointed look at his partner.

After shaking McCann's hand, Mike turned his attention to Waters. "Ah, Pete, I, ah, I'd like to… re-introduce myself." He glanced at Steve self-consciously and cleared his throat. "I'm Steve's partner, Lieutenant Stone. But I'm really not here in any official capacity… I just sort of came along for the ride…"

Both San Francisco cops watched as the Palm Springs detectives' brows furrowed in confusion.

"What he's trying to say is," Steve said pedantically, ignoring the pointed stare from the older man, "is that he's on injury leave and only came along because he's bored."

Mike grunted. "Well, that… and because it was, you know, my – I mean, _our_ case to begin with before, you know…" He gestured feebly.

McCann was studying the senior officer with an intrigued frown. "May I ask… what kind of injury…?"

Mike shrugged slightly and bobbled his head, trying to wave it off, but Steve jumped in. "He was shot in the chest."

"What?" Waters blurted out, both sergeants stunned, staring at the man in front of them with confused awe. "When?"

Snorting irritatedly, Mike glared at his partner but Steve paid him no attention. "About a week and a half ago," he continued flatly, not meeting Mike's eyes.

McCann had taken a half-step back, his face still registering his disbelief. "You look, ah… you look great…"

Mike grinned and shrugged. "I was lucky…"

"I guess you were," McCann said slowly, shaking his head in awe.

Waters tore his eyes from the San Francisco lieutenant. "Ah, Steve, um… so, ah, how are you guys coming along?"

Swallowing a smile, Steve nodded. "Great, thanks, ah, we're almost through the files and then we'll head out and visit Trammel's house and his business. We're just going out for a bite to eat."

"Oh, ah, may I recommend Lonny's Diner around the corner," McCann pointed to their right. "Best burgers and hotdogs in town, if that's what you're into."

Mike grinned. "You bet, thanks." He turned and headed towards the front door.

Steve tilted his head in his partner's direction. "He's a little hungry…" he said quietly before starting to follow. He could feel two sets of dumbstruck eyes on them as he caught up to Mike at the door and they exited.

# # # # #

"You know, I thought Palm Springs would be a real bustling little resort, but it seems kinda, I don't know, deserted…" Mike observed, looking out the side window as the LTD crept slowly down Cam Norte.

"It gets busy in the winter," Steve told him, "but the recession's really hit them hard, I heard."

"Humh… well, it's sure is a pretty town… all these palm trees… There!" He pointed to the numbers painted on the light grey wall beside a wrought-iron gate.

Steve pulled the car to the curb, patting his jacket pocket to make sure he had the house keys before he got out. Mike was already standing beside the entrance when he got there.

Locking the gate behind him, Steve turned the lock on the front door of the modest beige stucco bungalow with the terra cotta roof then opened it slowly. They stepped into a large, sparsely furnished living room with an off-white shag carpet and teak paneling on the walls. A huge dark brown faux leather sofa was against the far wall, opposite a 21" TV in a faux wood wall unit. Two replica Gehry 'wiggle' chairs sat on either side of the sofa and a Mondrian print hung on the wall above it.

Mike stood just inside the door, surveying the scene. "He was divorced, right?"

Chuckling, Steve nodded as he pocketed the keys, his own highly trained gaze taking in the entire room.

"So, ah, in your professional opinion, is there anything in this room – apart from the rug – that's real or is it all… fake?"

The chuckle turning into a laugh, Steve gave everything a thorough once-over. "No, you're absolutely right. Everything is a knockoff… but it still doesn't look too bad, if you don't look too closely…"

"Where did the report say they found the blood?"

"The kitchen."

Steve leading the way, they headed to the right, stepping into the entranceway of an expansive well-lit beige-walled kitchen with a brown Moroccan-style filigreed linoleum floor. Their eyes scanned the room, taking in everything from the unwashed plate and cutlery on the small round table against the wall, the empty bottle of rum on the counter, the half-empty pot of stone cold coffee in the Sunbeam coffeemaker, and the now very dry puddle of blood on the floor.


	38. Chapter 38

**Head and Heart – Chapter 38**

They had split up, Steve staying in the kitchen and living room with Mike taking the bedroom, bathroom and laundry room. Other than the dried blood on the kitchen floor, there was no other sign of violence in the entire house.

Mike wandered back into the kitchen, hands in his pockets; Steve was crouching, staring at the dried bloodstain. "Well, it looks to me like this came from a knife wound…" he said without looking up.

"Why do you think that?" the older man asked. He had already come to that conclusion but wanted to hear how his partner got there.

Steve glanced up, his eyes snapping around the room. "There's no splatter, which there would be with a gunshot, and there's too much blood for just a fistfight. But it's also not enough to be fatal… right?"

Mike nodded slowly. "Right. And there aren't any blood drops anywhere else – at least not that I can see. Did you check the drawers?" He nodded towards the smaller drawers under the counter near the stove.

"What for?"

"The blood is very… localized, isn't it? Whoever got stabbed probably grabbed a dishtowel or something nearby, don't you think?"

Nodding, Steve got to his feet and moved closer to the counter, opening the bottom drawer, figuring as that was where he kept his own dishtowels and cloths, it was the most logical location to start. He was right, and the top towel was rumpled, as if it had been disturbed when the one above it had been hastily removed. He glanced over his shoulder at his partner and smiled with a soft chuckle and shake of his head.

Mike shrugged and grinned. "I checked the laundry basket, there's nothing in there with any blood on it so whoever got stabbed probably took the towel with them, so that rules out Trammel for sure, right? I mean, he was beaten to death… I think even Bernie would've noticed a fresh stab wound."

Snorting a laugh, Steve nodded, looking around the room once again.

The older man exhaled loudly and shrugged. "Well, I think we've done all we can here, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, I think you're right." His roving eyes stopped on his partner. "So I guess we should head back to the department and talk to Waters and his partner about our six… suspects. And then we gotta find out if any of them were up in San Francisco when Trammel was killed." He sighed heavily.

Mike stared at him for a long second before he said quietly, "We're not going to be able to get all that done today, even with the guys here working with us… you know that, right?"

Steve sighed unhappily. "Yeah, I know. I really think we can wrap this up soon if we have enough manpower though, don't you? But a really big part of me wants it to be just us…" He was looking at his partner from under a lowered brow, deliberately chumming the water.

Mike stared at him without expression for several long seconds, knowing exactly what the younger man was doing. Finally he chuckled and looked down, shaking his head. "We'll have to clear it with Roy, you know… and I don't know about you, but I'm gonna have to buy more underwear and probably another shirt or two."

Steve's smile was slow to build and he crossed the kitchen quickly, slapping his partner on the arm as he returned to the living room and started for the front door. "I'll call him as soon as we get back to headquarters."

# # # # #

"So what about…" Steve glanced at the name on the file folder label, "Joshua Spencer?"

Their sleeves rolled up and ties loosened, the two San Francisco detectives were sitting on one side of the metal table, five files spread out in front of them, as well as two now empty coffee cups, two chocolate bar wrappers and a large half-empty bag of Lay's potato chips. Waters and McCann were sitting on the other side of the table, leaning back in the metal chairs, their legs crossed.

"Oh, him," McCann snorted, glancing at his partner. "He'd be my first choice."

"Oh? Why is that?" Mike asked with an interested smile, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table.

McCann shook his head with a dry chuckle. "Unlike McGuinty," he pointed vaguely towards the file on the floor beside the table, "Spencer can't control his temper. He's been… how shall I put it?... a guest of ours a couple of times over the years, mostly for assault. We had him dead to rights twice but his victims refused to press charges."

"Yeah, we saw that," Steve muttered, scanning a page in the Spencer file. "It just says here that the charges were dropped." He looked up. "Do you know why?"

McCann looked at Waters and they both shrugged.

"Well, the only thing I can think of," the blond Waters began, "is that when Spencer isn't drinking, he's a really nice guy."

Mike and Steve exchanged a look. "So what set him off?" the lieutenant asked.

"With which one?" Waters asked.

"Either of them."

"Well, that first time somebody ran over his garbage cans when he put them out at the curb on trash day. They'd swerved to miss a dog running across the street… Anyway, Spencer'd been sitting in his house drinking… he has a spotty employment record, let's just say… and he came roaring out of the house, pulled the guy out of his car and almost beat him to a pulp."

"And the guy didn't press charges?" Steve asked with a puzzled frown.

"Well," McCann took up the story, "the guy was going to but Spencer went to see him and the next thing we know, the driver's calling us and telling us he doesn't want to press charges."

"What… did Spencer threaten him?"

Both PS detectives shook their heads. "Nope," McCann chuckled, "and we followed up on it. The guy just changed his mind."

"Humh," Mike snorted, looking down briefly before pinning Waters with a curious stare. "So what makes you put him in with all these others potential Trammel suspects?"

"Well, Spencer was one of the reasons the department was serving a warrant on Trammel…"

"Yeah, we want to hear about that," Steve confirmed with a nod.

"Well, Trammel's business was… circling the drain, if you want, and, ah, he was starting to rip people off even more than he'd done in the past. The recession's hit this area pretty hard and a lot of the small businesses are going under. Turns out Spencer, who doesn't have a lot of spare cash, if you know what I mean, went to Trammel to buy a car – or at least put a down-payment on a car."

Steve snorted. "I think I know where this is going, right? Trammel took the money and didn't give him the car?"

The PS cops nodded. "Exactly," Waters confirmed with a wry chuckle, "and Spencer wasn't too happy about it, as you can guess. But he kept his temper, for a change, and came to us."

"So if you were going to arrest Trammel, why do you think Spencer would be the one to go after him then?"

"Well, Spencer knew we were putting a case together against Trammel, but we found out, after Trammel disappeared, that Spencer'd found out that the hundred bucks he'd already paid towards the car was gone for good. And a hundred bucks is a lot of money to him."

"It's a lot of money to most of us," Mike said softly, nodding his head. He slid the folder from in front of his partner, closed it and tossed it on the end of the table. "Okay, he's on our list." He looked at Steve. "Next…"

The inspector slid another file closer and opened it. "Robert Bonaventure…"

Waters chuckled evilly and McCann chortled. Both San Franciscan cops looked at them with bemused expressions.

"Ahhh, Bobby…" Waters muttered under his breath. "He's _my_ number one."

"Because…?" Mike prompted, eyebrows raised.

"John Trammel slept with his wife who then moved in with Trammel for about six months before leaving him as well."

"Did she go back to her husband?" Steve asked, making notes.

"Nope," Waters shook his head. "She left town with another guy, and left Bonaventure with their three children."

"Okay… so why is Bonaventure on the list?"

"He threatened Trammel more than once… you know, the 'I'm gonna kill you, you son-of-a-bitch' kinda thing. No one took him seriously but…"

"But that's why he's on the list…" Mike nodded. "Makes sense to me."

Steve closed the folder and tossed it on the other one.

# # # # #

By the time they had finished, there were four men that they wanted to interview.

Stacking the folders, Steve glanced at his partner in the chair beside him. Mike was sitting perfectly still, his eyes closed. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

The older man slowly opened his eyes and smiled reassuringly. "Yeah," he said softly, "I'm just beat..."

"I'm not surprised," Steve said, getting to his feet and picking up his jacket. "Let's get out of here and back to the motel."

Nodding, Mike started to get up then stopped, putting his right hand on his chest and his left on the table. Alarmed, Steve grabbed his arm. "I'm okay," Mike assured him in a whisper, "I'm okay…"

"Sure you are," Steve said flatly, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.

Snapping a defiant look in the younger man's direction, Mike pushed himself all the way up then reached for his jacket, keeping his right hand on his chest. Steve helped him into the jacket then put the fedora on his head. "You okay to walk to the car?"

Mike pinned him with another look. "I told you I'm fine."

Ignoring the glare, Steve opened the door and waited till Mike, both hands now at his sides, slowly shuffled passed him into the corridor, then preceded him out of the building and around to the parking lot. The older man leaned back against the passenger seat and closed his eyes, his right hand once more on his chest.

As they headed back to the motel, Steve kept glancing across the front seat. Mike wasn't moving. "Listen, ah…" he said quietly, "why don't you lie down when we get back and I'll go out and get us something to eat?"

After a couple of silent seconds, Mike smiled softly and nodded. "That sounds like a great idea…"

# # # # #

The key turned in the lock and, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand and fighting to keep the door open with his foot while bending down to pick up a large white paper bag with the other, Steve finally made it into the room.

Mike, still in his suit pants and dress shirt, was lying on the bed, watching him with an affectionate smile and chuckle. "You gotta hate those automatic door closers…"

Growling playfully, Steve managed to stagger to the desk with his load and put it down without dropping anything. He glanced at the bed. "Feeling any better?"

"A lot better, thanks. Guess I just had to lie down for awhile." He sniffed the air. "Tacos?"

"Umh-humh. The lady in the front office recommended this place. Smells good, doesn't it?" He had taken off his jacket and was taking the individually wrapped tacos out of the bag. "I told her we were going to extend our stay for at least another night. Business has been pretty bad so she's thrilled," he chuckled, glancing at the drinks. "I got you a lemonade. Is that okay?"

"Sounds perfect, thanks." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started to push himself up.

"Stay there, I'll being the stuff over," Steve instructed quickly, but it was too late. Mike was already at the desk.

With a gentle chuckle, he pulled one of the chairs out and sat carefully. "I'm okay. I hate eating lying down." He reached for one of the tacos and started to unwrap it. "You get any hot sauce?"

Grinning knowingly, Steve reached into the paper bag and produced a small, half-filled bottle of Tabasco sauce. "I got them to sell me an already opened one." He took the small red top off and set it on the desk.

Mike laughed, obviously pleased. "Thank you." He unwrapped the thick, juicy, colourful taco, holding it with his left hand while he shook the red sauce onto it with his right.

Picking up one of the wrapped tacos, Steve asked with a sidelong glance, "So, ah, you think you'll be okay to make a couple of house calls tomorrow?"

Mike's eyes snapped towards him, setting the Tabasco bottle down with a thud. "Me? Of course I'll be okay. Why wouldn't I?"

Pulling the other chair out and sitting down, Steve shook his head, not meeting the intense blue-eyed stare. "I don't know, I just thought –"

"I'm fine," Mike stated almost angrily, still staring at the younger man, who had picked up his taco and taken a big bite. Belatedly realizing that Steve was just voicing concern for his welfare, he exhaled loudly and dropped his head. He reached out with his free hand and ran it across his partner's shoulders then patted his back. "I'm fine," he said quietly, relaxing into the chair. His eyes slid slowly in the younger man's direction and he smiled apologetically.

Still chewing, Steve met his eyes evenly. Then he smiled as well.


	39. Chapter 39

**Thanks so much everyone who keeps reading and everyone who takes the time **

**to review. Much appreciated! This story is turning out to be much longer**

**than I had anticipated - sorry about that but I hope you will all continue to read!**

Behind his dark glasses, Steve glanced across the front seat, brow slightly furrowed. "You sure you're up for this today?"

Mike turned to him with a bemused smile. "How many times am I going to have to tell you…? I'm fine." To punctuate his remark, he picked up the map from the seat beside him, sliding his reading glasses out of his inside jacket pocket and slipping them on. He looked from the map to the street sign they were just passing. "It should be just a couple of blocks up here on the right."

Smiling to himself with a slight shake of his head, Steve nodded. "Well, let's hope our Mr. Hughes is up at this hour of the morning, or it could be a 'rude awakening' you might say," he chuckled dryly, peripherally watching as his partner rolled his eyes and groaned.

The sun had been up since just before 6. And now, just after 7:30, the tan LTD slowed down on the quiet residential street as they looked for the house numbers.

"What is it with the walls around all these houses?" Mike asked semi-rhetorically with a soft snort. "Privacy or security – what do you think?" He glanced across the front seat.

Steve shrugged as he pulled the car to the curb, shifted into Park and turned it off. He picked up the file folder and flipped it open. "Carlton Hughes… he's the guy who threatened Trammel over an unpaid poker debt…"

They had decided to start with the least likely suspect and work their way up to the most likely, Robert Bonaventure. And though they knew they didn't have the jurisdiction to arrest anyone, they just wanted to feel people out and maybe winnow their list of potential suspects down even more. Then, if they did decide someone needed more interrogation, they would bring Waters and McCann back with them and take the suspect into custody. And besides, Mike didn't have his gun.

"How much was it again?" Mike asked.

"Three grand…" Steve shook his head, his eyebrows raised. "You know, you'd think if he was that bad a poker player, he'd of given up long before he, you know, almost lost his house and his business…"

Mike snorted. "Well, gambling is an addiction but Trammel seems to have had a lot of them… We know he drank… and smoked. I think every ashtray in his house was full. He was a womanizer. He cheated people in his business… " He looked at his partner without expression for a couple of seconds then asked, completely deadpan, "Remind me why we're trying to find out who killed this guy…?"

Laughing, Steve slapped his arm before he opened the door and got out. Mike joined him on the sidewalk in front of the gate in the stucco wall and pressed the doorbell. After the second ring, the front door of the small house opened and a tall, heavyset man with a thick dark mustache and unkempt dark hair, barefoot and in a light blue short-sleeve bathrobe tied haphazardly, stumbled down the short walk towards them.

Rubbing a hand over his bleary-eyed and beard-stubbled face, he growled. "Who the hell are you?"

Both detectives had their stars and I.D.'s out. "Mr. Hughes?" Steve asked.

The moist eyes narrowed, flicking from the younger cop to the older one, and he nodded.

"Mr. Hughes, I'm Inspector Keller, this is Lieutenant Stone. We're with the San Francisco Police Department and we'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?"

His eyes snapping back and forth, Hughes licked his lips and shook his head as if trying to clear it. "What…? You're from San Francisco…?"

Steve nodded. "Yes. Would you mind if we came in and asked you some questions?" he tried again.

"Questions about what?"

"Mr. Hughes," Mike said almost sharply, looking pointedly at the lock on the wrought-iron gate.

"Oh, ah, yeah… come on in." Hughes turned the latch on the back of the gate and opened it, turning and heading towards the house. The detectives followed him down the short walkway to the front door. Hughes invited them in, leaving the door open. "What's this all about?" he asked through a yawn.

Steve, after glancing around the overly-furnished and untidy living room, met the taller man's stare. "John Trammel. Do you know him?"

Hughes snorted derisively. "That little piss-ant? What did he tell you I did now?" He looked defiantly from the younger detective to the older.

"He didn't tell us anything, Mr. Hughes," Mike said smoothly. "We just want to know what you can tell us about him?"

"Well, I can tell you he's a lousy poker player, and a liar. If he said I did anything to him, that's a lie. I did threaten him, I'll give you that. But the bastard owes me three thousand bucks."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Steve asked with a mirthless smile.

Hughes tilted his head back and his brow furrowed. "Jeez, I don't know, a coupla weeks ago…" His eyes suddenly snapped to Steve and he frowned. "Hey, didn't you guys say you were from San Francisco?"

Both detectives nodded.

"Well, whata you doin' here? Did Trammel get himself in trouble up in 'Frisco too?" he chortled almost evilly.

Steve saw Mike wince at the diminutive and swallowed a smile. "Mr. Hughes, can you tell us where you were the night of June 26th?"

"June 26th? Jeez, you gotta be kiddin'… I don't remember…"

"Were you in town?"

"In town? You mean, was I here in Palm Springs? Of course I was… where the hell else would I be?"

Steve glanced at his partner, who smiled perfunctorily and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Hughes, sorry to have bothered you." He turned to leave.

Hughes shook his head slightly, now completely baffled. "So, ah… what? You guys gonna tell me what this is all about…?"

Mike looked back and smiled patronizingly again, shaking his head. "No," he said simply as he started back down the walkway towards their car.

Smiling coldly, Steve nodded his thanks and followed his partner.

When they were both back in the car, Steve looked at Mike and chuckled. "Okay, we've left that poor guy totally confused."

With a soft laugh, Mike put on his reading glasses, picked up the next file and opened it. "Well, it'll give him something to talk about for the next few days. He's not our guy. That bathrobe didn't leave much to the imagination but it was obvious he wasn't trying to hide any knife wounds. " He looked down at the file. "Okay, let's see… Darren Keyes. He lives in the Sahara Mobile Home Park." He looked up through the windshield. "We've gotta find Sunrise Way and go south."

# # # # #

"Darren Keyes..." Mike mumbled as he read through the file. They had found Sunrise Way and were heading in the right direction after a couple of dead ends. "Oh yeah, he's the guy who bought a car from Trammel, paid cash, and two days later the engine seized and Trammel wouldn't give him a refund or another car. He wouldn't honor that worthless guarantee he promoted in his ads, from the looks of it here." He looked up at the young man on the seat beside him. "You know, that would piss me off too… I mean, you give this guy just about all the money you've got in the world, 'cause you need a car to get to the job you just landed… and then you get ripped off… and you lose the job…" He looked back down at the file.

Steve was nodding slowly. "What did he do to Trammel again?"

Mike flipped a page and read for a bit. "Oh yeah, he went to the car lot and put Trammel in a headlock," he chuckled softly. "I could see myself doing that…" he muttered under his breath.

"He wasn't charged?" Steve asked, smiling gently as he turned the car onto Twin Palms Drive.

"Nah, remember what Pete said? The cops took pity on him. Seems that was the third time that month that someone had taken their frustrations out on our Mr. Trammel." Mike closed the folder and took off his glasses. "I'm surprised he made it all the way to San Francisco before he was killed."

"Yeah, speaking of that… I know you've been giving it some thought. You have any theories on why he was in The City in the first place."

Mike shook his head. "Not a clue… but it's pretty obvious, I think, that he was trying to hide… that's why he lifted that credit card. And as for the Goodman alias…" His head shaking became even more pronounced as he shrugged.

"Yeah, that's what I think too," Steve agreed through a heavy sigh. "We're here," he announced as they turned onto Camino Real and the painted wooden sign announcing the Sahara Mobile Home Park came into view.

# # # # #

The car came to a stop on the pavement outside a house trailer near the south end of the park. They got out slowly, surveying the area. Most of the trailers were permanent structures, with porches and skirting, lawns and even small gardens.

The Keyes' home was a light blue and white travel trailer, dented and dirty, with a grassless 'lawn' and rickety-looking metal stairs leading up to the flimsy door. The tires had been replaced with cinder blocks.

Mike looked at his partner and exhaled loudly, tilting his head. Steve stood on the bottom step and knocked on the aluminum door. When nobody answered, he knocked again; still no response. He looked at Mike and raised his eyebrows. After several more silent seconds, he backed down off the step and they returned to the car.

Mike looked over the roof of the car as he opened the passenger side door. "Let's come back after lunch."

# # # # #

"So now we get to meet the rather colorful Mr. Spencer," Steve chuckled as they headed back up Sunrise Way.

"Yeah," Mike agreed with a soft snort. "Let's hope he's sober."

It didn't take long to find the ill-kept house on a sidestreet in a sketchier area of the small city.

Mike glanced at his partner as they got out of the car and crossed the garbage-strewn lawn to the wooden front door that was in need of a good paint job. "I'm beginning to see a pattern here," he said under his breath and the younger man nodded. Instinctively, he reached back with his right hand to touch the grip of his .38, but found only air; his gun was back in San Francisco.

Feeling the same apprehension, Steve reached across his body and unsnapped his holster before he knocked on the door. They both tensed, waiting. Nothing happened. They exchanged a quick glance before Steve knocked again.

"Just a second!" came a loud, belligerent shout from deep inside the house and both men froze, staring at the door. They heard a lock disengage and the door was pulled violently open.

Joshua Spencer, tall, balding and paunchy with a longish grey beard and mustache, glared at them from under busy eyebrows. "What the hell do you want?" he growled and both detectives knew instantly that he was very drunk.

Steve held his badge up, meeting the angry eyes evenly. "Joshua Spencer, I'm Inspector Keller and this is Lieutenant Stone. We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?"

Mike clocked, with approval, how his partner had changed tactics, neglecting to inform Spencer of where they were from.

Sneering, Spencer looked from the younger cop to the older one and back. "About what?" The two words were low, pointed and full of malice.

"If you let us in, we'll tell you." This was something Steve had learned from Mike early on in their partnership, the necessity of getting into a suspect's place of residence, even if only for a few minutes. How a person lived went a long way in explaining their state of mind, the older cop had stressed, and it was a lesson that Steve had taken to heart. "This won't take long, I assure you. And, ah, and you don't want your neighbors seeing a couple of cops standing on your doorstep, do you?"

"I don't give a crap about my neighbors," Spencer growled but he opened the door anyway and they stepped into the unkempt living room. There were dirty clothes strewn everywhere, stacks of greasy pizza boxes piled on the floor, pizza crusts fighting with empty beer and liquor bottles on every visible surface and the nauseating stench of cigarette smoke hanging thickly in the air. It was an altogether unwelcoming place.

Mike looked down at the dirty couch, electing to stand. Steve chose to do the same. Spencer had no such compunction and dropped heavily onto a overstuffed armchair losing its stuffing. "So what is it you want to ask me?" he spat out as he picked up a half-empty bottle of Bud and finished it in one gulp.

Steve cleared his throat. "We just need to know where you were on the night of Wednesday, June 26th of this year?"

Spencer tossed the bottle on the floor where it rolled noisily for several seconds. "Why?"

Steve smiled coldly. "You tell us where you were and we'll tell you why we want to know." He paused. "Deal?"

They stared at each other. Spencer had just opened his mouth to reply when a noise to his left caught Steve's attention at the same time he heard Mike yell his name.

He turned just in time to see a baseball bat hurtling towards his head.


	40. Chapter 40

Steve threw himself to the right, managing to get his left arm up to protect his head. The heavy wooden bat caught him on the wrist and white hot pain shot through the entire left side of his body. He screamed in agony as he felt something in his wrist snap and his arm dropped uselessly to his side as all hell broke loose.

Lunging forward, Mike grabbed his partner's right arm and pulled him closer as he turned slightly towards the couch, yelling "Don't move!" to a startled Spencer. Blinking rapidly in pain, Steve felt himself being yanked backwards then propelled towards the front door. From the corner of his eye he could see his partner step between him and the bat-wielding attacker as Mike shouted, "Go!", pushing him closer to the open door.

Almost unable to think because of the pain, Steve staggered out onto the stoop, expecting Mike to be on his heels. He wasn't.

Taking a step closer to Steve's assailant, now realizing it was a woman, Mike ducked as she swung the bat again and he felt it brush the top of his fedora. Then he dove, driving his left shoulder into her midriff, sending both of them sprawling onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen behind her, both of them grunting loudly with the force of the impact, the bat hitting the floor with a loud bang above her head. Pain exploded in Mike's chest, momentarily taking his breath away.

Hearing the loud crash from inside the house, Steve turned quickly to head back in but the heavy wooden door slammed shut in his face and he heard the lock engaged. Spencer had bolted from the couch to the front entrance when he saw the younger cop stagger out the door, flinging it shut and locking it.

Suddenly panicking, Steve drew his .38 and pounded the grip against the door. "Mike!" he yelled, pausing to see if he could hear what was going on inside the house. "Mike!" He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the LTD then made a dash for it, knowing he had to call for help.

# # # # #

Shaken from the fall, catching his breath and trying to fight off the pain in his chest, Mike got to his hands and knees, straddling the unknown woman, then leaned forward, balling his right hand into a fist and quickly placing his forearm across her neck against her throat.

Blinking wide-eyed at the ceiling, stunned from the tackle and hitting the hard floor, she began to choke slightly from the pressure of the cop's arm on her neck.

He'd heard the front door close and felt Spencer's presence behind him in the kitchen doorway. Trying not to reveal his discomfort, he growled loudly, "Open the door and let my partner in or I'll break her neck."

He could feel Spencer's indecision as the drunken man stood mutely in the entranceway, not knowing what to do. Inhaling deeply, trying to suppress a moan of pain, Mike snarled again, "I said let my partner in or I'll kill her."

He heard Spencer take a tentative step backwards then retreat to the door.

# # # # #

Steve had just tossed the mic onto the seat when he heard the lock on the door disengage and it opened. Spencer's frantic face looked out, trying to find him, then disappeared back into the house.

His teeth gritted against the pain, pulling his .38 again, Steve ran back to the house. "Mike!" He charged into the living room, his gun preceding him, looking around for his partner for a split second before his eyes settled on the tense scene on the kitchen floor.

"Are you all right?" he heard Mike ask and he nodded.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm okay." He tried to sound convincing but he knew his partner would hear the pain and the fear for their safety in his voice. "I called for back-up."

"Good," Mike grunted. He took a deep breath and Steve could hear how unsteady it was. "Spencer," he continued loudly, "I'm gonna get off her now, but if either one of you so much as moves, my partner's gonna put a bullet in you… do you understand?" He was staring into the woman's suddenly fear-filled eyes. When she didn't move and Spencer stayed silent, Mike raised his voice even more. "Do you understand?!"

Beneath the arm pinning her down, she stared at him and nodded, wide-eyed. Shooting a look at Steve, who had punctuated his partner's order with a quick wave of his gun to propel the bigger man deeper into the living room, Spencer hissed, "I understand," as he threw himself on the couch.

Very slowly, continuing to stare into her terrified eyes, Mike took his forearm off her neck, putting his hand on the floor and pushing himself up onto his knees. The pain in his chest was almost overwhelming but he didn't let it show as he got slowly to his feet, turning carefully to look into the living room, meeting his partner's eyes.

They stared at each other seemingly without expression, both their hearts pounding, their eyes suddenly moist… and it wasn't all from the pain. Closing his eyes briefly in relief, Mike stepped over the woman, who was heeding his words of warning not to move, and walked almost casually into the living room to his partner's side. He glared at Spencer sitting on the edge of the couch, staring sullenly at the floor.

Through the open front door they could hear the sound of approaching sirens.

Nobody moved as the sirens got closer; tires were heard squealing to a stop close by, car doors were opened and quick footsteps pounded up the walkway. Suddenly four uniformed Palm Springs police officers, guns drawn, charged into the room, taking in the scene and spreading out quickly. A few moments later, Waters and McCann, their own guns out, followed, both detectives visibly relaxing when their eyes fell on their San Franciscan counterparts.

The plain-featured, thickset woman with the dyed red hair had been pulled to her feet and hand-cuffed, as was Spencer, and all four detectives watched in silence as they were marched out of the house without a word.

As they disappeared through the door, Mike turned to his partner and grabbed his right arm. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Waters and McCann, holstering their service revolvers, stared with concern at the younger cop. Mike's eyes flicked towards them. "He's got a broken arm," he said quickly as Steve tried to shake him off.

"I'm okay…"

"Like hell you are," Mike shot back, looking at the younger man's arm hanging limply at his side.

Waters reached out and touched Steve's left arm gently to get a better look at the injured appendage and the inspector hissed involuntarily and pulled away. "Okay, that's it," Waters said quickly and firmly, "you're going to the hospital. Right now." He turned to McCann. "Charlie, you take their car and follow me. I'll take them."

Steve reached into his right jacket pocket, grabbed the keys to the LTD and handed them to the PS sergeant. Then he looked at Mike, knowing his partner was in pain and trying to gauge how much.

"Come on," Waters said, gesturing around the living room, "we'll sort all this out later. You need to get looked at first." He started towards the front door.

Steve looked at his partner again, his concern superseding his own pain. Mike smiled reassuringly and nodded, "I'm going with you, don't worry…" Steve smiled back then turned to follow Waters, putting his .38 in the holster on his left hip, being careful not to jostle his wrist.

The Palm Springs PD's unmarked dark blue Caprice was parked straight into the curb behind the LTD. Waters opened the back door for Steve who slid in carefully, holding his injured left forearm close to his body with his right hand, then closed the door and slipped behind the wheel.

Mike opened the other back door and got in slowly, holding his breath until he had shut the door and leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. As Waters started the car and began backing it up, Steve rested his injured arm in his lap and reached across the seat to put his right hand on Mike's left forearm, squeezing.

Without opening his eyes, Mike smiled, placing his right hand over his partner's and squeezing back.

# # # # #

By the time they arrived at the former hotel turned hospital with its distinctive bell tower, it was obvious to both Steve and Waters that Mike was in more pain that he was letting on. He had opened the back door but he couldn't get out.

Alarmed, Waters called for assistance and two orderlies appeared with a wheelchair, reaching into the back of the large sedan to help the injured man turn in the seat so he could get his feet on the ground. They carefully helped him stand so he could move to sit in the chair, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched the entire time.

Holding his throbbing wrist, Steve watched with a worried frown. As Waters followed the wheelchair, McCann gently touched Steve's right arm. "Come on," he said softly, "let's get you looked at right away."

Taken immediately to an examination room, McCann stayed with him, helping to fill out the paperwork while a resident examined the obviously broken left wrist and sent Steve to x-ray.

# # # # #

"He, ah… his partner said he was shot in the chest about a week and a half ago…" Waters said as the medical personnel quickly entered the examination room and surrounded the gurney where Mike was lying with his eyes still closed.

The Palm Springs sergeant, the lieutenant's fedora in his hand, was watching from the doorway as two nurses and a resident helped to carefully strip Mike of his jacket, tie and shirt. "And, ah, and he was just in a… a physical encounter, I guess you could call it…" he continued worriedly.

Examining the almost healed small round wound on the detective's chest, so close to his heart, the resident, a Doctor Richard Williams according to his nametag, asked, "What kind of 'physical encounter'?"

McCann shrugged, "I'm not sure…"

Nodding absent-mindedly, Williams leaned closer to his patient and asked loudly, "Lieutenant Stone, can you hear me?"

Eyes still squeezed shut, Mike nodded.

"Good. Now I want you to tell me exactly where it hurts."

Trying to take deep breaths through his nose, Mike raised his right hand and laid the palm over the wound on his chest.

"Just there? Nowhere else?" Williams asked and the detective nodded.

"Okay… okay, we're going to send you to x-ray, Lieutenant, and we'll see what's going on, okay?" Williams nodded at one of the nurses who hurried from the room. "We're going to take you right now, so you just hang in there and we'll get you fixed up before you know it." He glanced up at Waters and tried to smile reassuringly.

With a worried nod, Waters took a step backwards out the door as the lieutenant was covered with a light flannelette blanket and the gurney was rolled past and disappeared down the corridor and around a corner.

# # # # #

Steve was sitting on the examination table, cradling his broken wrist, waiting for the results of the x-ray. He had sent McCann off to locate Waters and find out what was going on with Mike. He was more worried about his partner than he was about himself at the moment.

The wooden door was flung open and the young doctor who had been treating him, Weston, charged into the room with two large x-rays in his hand. "Well, it's well and truly broken, like we thought, but the good news is, you don't need surgery." He held up one of the x-rays towards the ceiling light so Steve could see it. He pointed at what looked like a small piece of bone that was out of alignment near the cap of the ulna. "See this?"

Steve nodded.

"Well, the orthopedic surgeon is going to… manipulate that back into place before he applies the cast."

"Manipulate?" Steve asked apprehensively, suddenly uncomfortable with the implications of that term. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

Weston looked at him sympathetically and nodded. "Don't worry, they're going to numb you up pretty good; you won't feel a thing."

"Unh-hunh." Steve didn't sound very convinced. "So, ah, so how long will I be in a cast?"

Weston lowered the x-ray. "Well, that depends on how fast you heal, of course, but at least four weeks, maybe a little longer. The cast won't cover your fingers so you'll be able to use them once the initial swelling goes down…" He raised his eyebrows and smiled encouragingly.

Steve nodded with a heavy sigh.

"Okay," Weston continued cheerfully, "well, ah, let's find you a wheelchair and get you up to Orthopedics, shall we?" He turned quickly and left the room.

Steve looked down at the disturbingly swollen wrist he was cradling in his lap, knowing he had gotten off lightly that morning. It could have been so much worse if Mike hadn't been there.

He looked at the door and swallowed heavily, hoping that McCann would appear and tell him all was good with his partner. But the door didn't open.

He closed his eyes, trying not to think, trying not to worry. But that was proving impossible.


	41. Chapter 41

He had managed to slow his breathing down somewhat and get the pain in his chest under control. He still hadn't opened his eyes but he knew he was being wheeled through the halls of the hospital from Emergency to Radiology. He moved his head slightly. "Steve…" he mumbled and he could sense someone leaning closer to him.

"Sorry…? You said something, Lieutenant Stone…?" a warm feminine voice reached his ears.

He tried to nod. "Steve… my partner… he was hurt…"

"I'm sure they're looking after him just like we're looking after you," she said reassuringly and he felt a warm hand gently patting his shoulder through the blanket.

He could sense the gurney being pushed into a small room and he tried to focus on what was needed of him at the moment. But he couldn't stop thinking about his partner.

# # # # #

Dr. Weston had been right; Steve's forearm had been numbed so much he didn't feel a thing when the orthopedic surgeon manipulated the splintered ulna bone back into place and was now fitting the broken limb with a stockinette, cutting a hole for his thumb to fit through.

The young cop watched the entire cast molding procedure as if it was happening to someone else; his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. McCann had finally returned, telling him that Mike had been taken to X-ray. but there had been no more news since then.

Weston smoothed the plaster on the cast then looked up. The injured cop was frowning, his gaze unfocused. "Steve…" he said softly, watching as the inspector's eyes gradually focused on him. He smiled reassuringly. "We're done here." He glanced down at the cast and Steve followed his gaze, his brows rising in surprise.

With a chuckle, Weston got to his feet, pushing the small stool he'd been sitting on against a nearby wall. He peeled off the latex gloves he'd been wearing, dropping them in a nearby garbage can. "Now you're gonna need to sit here for the next fifteen to twenty minutes while that starts to dry. Then we'll fit you with a sling that you're going to have to wear for the next 48 hours, okay?"

Steve nodded, still seemingly far away.

"You ever had a cast before?"

The cop's head came up quickly and he smiled perfunctorily. "Ah, yeah… yeah, I have…"

"So you know the drill then, right? Don't get it wet, try not to hit it on anything, keep your wrist elevated for the first couple of days, even while you're sleeping… You know all that, right?"

Steve nodded again.

Weston laughed. "Good, then I won't bore you with the details." He headed to the door and grabbed the handle. "Just sit tight and I'll be back in about twenty minutes and we'll fit you with that sling and then you're out of here, okay?"

Steve smiled briefly. "Thanks, Doc."

# # # # #

There was a soft knock on the door before it opened slowly. Steve, his cast-covered left forearm elevated in a blue-and-white sling strapped to his chest under his jacket, stepped quietly into the room, his eyes falling on the partially raised bed.

The wires from a heart monitor sticking out from the top of the hospital gown, Mike slowly opened his eyes and raised his head slightly. He smiled. "I was wondering when you were gonna find me," he chuckled softly, then gestured with his chin towards his partners injured limb. "How's the arm?"

Grinning with relief mixed with concern, Steve crossed to the side of the bed, laying his right hand on Mike's arm and squeezing. "Well, it is broken, as you can see, but at least it's stopped hurting." His smile disappeared. "How are you doing?" He glanced at the bright green blips moving across the monitor, frowning with concern.

"They're gonna keep me here overnight," the older man said with a slight shrug. "Don't worry, they didn't find anything wrong. I just, ah, I just tore some of the muscles that were healing again." He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "There's nothing they can do about it – I just have to take it really easy for awhile." He glanced at that heart monitor. "That's just a precaution."

After a couple of silent seconds, Steve nodded. "Okay… okay, I think that's probably a good thing."

Mike nodded with a soft, self-conscious snort.

"Are you in any pain?"

The older man shook his head. "Not anymore. But for awhile there…" He exhaled loudly and raised his eyebrows. Steve's grip on his arm tightened.

"So, ah, so what did you do to her?" he asked, shrugging slightly. "All I saw was you on top of her on the kitchen floor."

Mike snorted dryly. "I, ah… I tackled her." He chuckled once when his partner's brow furrowed. "I really didn't have much of a choice, did I? I didn't have my gun and I sure as hell wasn't going to let her hit you – or me – with that bat again…"

Steve took a deep breath, unconsciously trying to flex the swollen fingers of his broken arm as he remembered the overwhelming pain. "Yeah…" he breathed, reliving the moment. "So, ah, so how did you keep Spencer at bay? I mean he's even bigger than you are…"

Mike dropped his head and cleared his throat self-consciously. "I, ah… I threatened him…"

"You what?" Steve asked softly, not sure if he'd heard correctly.

The older man looked at him and sighed heavily. He shook his head slightly in disbelief. "I, ah," he cleared his throat again, "I told him if he didn't open the door and let you back in… that I'd break her neck…"

Steve's eyes widened and he stared silently at his partner for several long quiet seconds. This was not something he'd ever expected to hear from his friend and mentor, and it was chilling. He nodded, swallowing hard. "I, ah… thank you for, ah, for, ah, for yelling at me… I didn't even see her…" he said softly, increasing the pressure of his hand on his partner's arm.

"Steve, what I did is what you'd of done in my shoes, right? You didn't see her coming and I did… that's all there is to it." He snorted a short, mirthless laugh. "What I don't understand is why we didn't know there was someone else in the house…"

Steve took his hand away, turning to pull a stool that was tucked into the corner closer to the bed and he sat, trying not to jiggle his left arm. "Yeah, I've been thinking about that too. There was no mention of a wife or girlfriend in his file…" He met Mike's skeptical stare. "Yeah, I know," he admitted, rolling his eyes, "that's not an excuse… but it's the only one I can think of at the moment." They chuckled.

"Well, we're both lucky it didn't turn out worse than it did," Mike offered with a shake of his head.

"Yeah…" They fell into a companionable silence, both reflecting on what they had just been through and how close they had come to serious injury, or worse.

Mike's eyes narrowed. "So does anybody know who she is and why she went after you?"

Steve shook his head. "Not that I know of… well, at least not yet. I'm sure they're working on it and they'll tell us when they know."

Mike nodded slowly and looked down, taking a deep breath and trying not to wince.

Steve watched him worriedly for a couple of silent seconds then asked gently, "So, ah, so what do we do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, you're going to be in here overnight… and you probably shouldn't be going back out on the streets again, even here, until you see your doctor back home, right…?" He punctuated his words with a penetrating stare, then plowed on, leaving Mike no room for rebuttal. "And I'm handicapped now, and will be for at least a month, if not longer." He shrugged. "So… what are we gonna do? I mean, I don't know about you but I have no intention of turning this case over to the Palm Springs Police Department… or to any of our own guys… I know Bill was working with me on this and he's mostly responsible for us being down here but, Mike, this is _our_ case, right? Yours and mine…"

The older man was staring at him, nodding slowly. "Yes, it is…" He smiled knowingly. "And I don't know about you but I have no intention of telling Roy or Bill or anybody else back home right now what happened today, do you? And I think, if we ask Pete and Charlie politely, that they just might agree to, oh, I don't know, provide us some back-up if we decided to go talk to our other two suspects in the next couple of days… don't you think?"

Steve's growing smile was suddenly replaced with a frown. "Don't _you_ think you should take it easy tomorrow… I mean, you're just going to be getting out of here in the morning –"

"Ah, but you forget. Tomorrow is Sunday, right? Everybody deserves one day of rest a week, and I think we should all take tomorrow off, and finish up here on Monday… and even Roy wouldn't argue with that, now would he?"

Smiling once more, Steve was nodding deliberately. "Very shrewd, Lieutenant, very shrewd… that's why they pay you the big bucks…"

With a facial shrug, Mike chuckled softly, laying his head back on the thin pillow and closing his eyes. He felt the soft touch of his partner's hand on his arm again.

"Hell of a day, hunh?" the younger man said quietly.

Keeping his eyes closed, Mike nodded gently. "It sure was…" He chuckled softly. Several seconds later, he opened his eyes. "So, ah, so you gonna be okay in that big old motel room all by yourself?"

Steve snorted and patted his arm. "Oh, I think I'll be okay for one night."

Mike indicated the broken arm with his chin. "Don't forget you gotta keep that elevated for a couple of nights, right?"

"Umh-humh. I'll use a couple of the pillows from that mountain on your bed."

"Just for tonight," Mike raised an admonishing forefinger, "I'll be back tomorrow, don't forget…"

They both chuckled, staring at each other, then Mike closed his eyes again and Steve took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "Listen, ah, Pete and Charlie are waiting for me. They're going to take me back to the motel… and they said they'd bring me back here to pick you up tomorrow morning." He smiled almost sadly. "Uh, you gonna be okay here on your own?"

Mike smiled with a soft chuckle, touched by the concern. "Oh, I think I'll manage… I need the R&R, I guess…" He swallowed heavily, his right hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest. "You get some sleep too, you hear? I don't want you doing anything except resting up. You gotta let that cast harden and you've got to take it easy," he said with a furrowed brow, his words sounding suspiciously like an order.

Steve snorted a soft chuckle and cocked his head slightly. "I will… I promise." The smile disappeared. "I'll, ah, I'll see you in the morning." He squeezed his partner's arm once more then stepped towards the door.

Smiling warmly, Mike nodded, watching as the younger man opened the door and slipped out into the corridor. He stared at the ceiling, trying to fight the pain as he took a deep breath. He knew he was paying a price for what he'd done but he'd really had no choice, he reasoned. And he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

# # # # #

Waters had driven him back to the motel, McCann following in the LTD. They told him they would pick him up tomorrow morning around 9:30 so they could be at the hospital before 10, when Mike would be released.

He'd asked Waters to stop at a 7-11 on the way and he'd picked up a bottle of Coke and a bag of salted sunflower seeds. If he wanted something more substantial to eat later, he could always order a pizza, he thought.

Now he was sitting on the bed, lying back against a pile of pillows, his left arm still strapped tightly against his chest. The wrist was throbbing a bit but it was nothing he couldn't handle, especially with a couple of Tylenol in his system. With his right hand, he was alternating between cracking the shells and extracting the seeds with his tongue then taking a sip of Coke. He was pretty adept at it, he thought, chuckling quietly to himself with a tiny smile.

The small TV was on but he wasn't paying any attention to it. He kept replaying the scene in the Spencer house over and over in his mind, trying to figure out how they had missed the woman in the kitchen. They weren't usually that sloppy, he knew, but as he had said to Mike, nothing in the file had alluded to Spencer having a wife or girlfriend. But it was a mistake that could have had tragic consequences if Mike hadn't seen her step through the kitchen door with the baseball bat in her hands.

He shuddered, knowing the results could have been so very different if Mike hadn't been there. He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the pillows. And he knew what he needed to do about Mel.


	42. Chapter 42

Steve pushed the hospital door open and smiled. "Hey, hey, look at you…" he chuckled gently as he stepped into the room.

Wearing his suit, his partner was sitting on a white plastic chair beside the bed, his legs crossed and his hat in his lap. His tie was stuffed into his jacket pocket. He grinned. "Just waiting on the paperwork."

"How do you feel?"

Mike nodded, pushing himself up slowly. "Good, good," he said with a nod, "the rest really helped. How about you?"

"I took your instructions to heart and I did nothing last night. The wrist feels pretty good." He nodded back towards the door. "Ah, Pete drove me here. Charlie's going to join us at the motel when we get back. Seems they have some news about what went down yesterday."

Mike's eyebrows rose. "That's good… but I thought you were going to tell them to take the day off, like us?"

"I, ah, I mentioned that to them last night but they said they wanted to get to the bottom of what happened yesterday… for us… But," he continued quickly before Mike could interrupt, "they promised to take the remainder of the day off." The older man smiled with a pleased nod. "And…" Steve continued, "I was going to talk to them about, you know, the other thing we talked about last night…? But before I could even say anything, both of them told me they were going to back us up when we went out to finish the interviews tomorrow…" He stared at the older man with raised eyebrows.

Mike frowned and tilted his head, a broad smile slowly lighting his face. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Just like that?"

Steve grinned and nodded once sharply. "Just like that."

"The brotherhood, right…?"

Grinning, Steve nodded. "Charlie said they knew how we were feeling…"

Mike's bobbing head suddenly stopped moving. "Wait a minute… if they agreed to back us up with the other interviews…" He paused, frowning. "Does that mean Spencer's in the clear for the Trammel murder?"

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "Jeez, I didn't think of that… That makes sense, though, doesn't it?"

"Yeah…" Mike agreed slowly. "So what was yesterday all about then?"

Shrugging, Steve glanced towards the door. "Well, if we can get that paperwork and get you outa here, we'll find out."

As if summoned, the heavy wooden door opened and a nurse with Mike's discharge papers entered with a broad smile.

# # # # #

Mike was lying back against the pile of pillows, still in his dress shirt and suit pants, his sleeves rolled up and shoes off. Waters was straddling one of the desk chairs. Steve was on the other bed, sitting up against the headboard, working his way through the remainder of the bag of sunflower seeds; the others had passed on his offer to share.

The Palm Springs sergeant had been regaling them with uncirculated stories and outright rumors about the celebrities that called Palm Springs home. Mike was hoping he could remember some of them to tell his daughter.

There was a soft knock on the door and Waters got up to answer it. A beaming Charlie McCann strode past his partner into the small room, a large paper bag in one hand. His eyes went immediately to the far bed and the San Franciscan lieutenant. "Hey, you're looking pretty good, Mike. How are you feeling?"

Smiling broadly, the most senior officer in the room nodded. "Pretty damn good, Charlie, thanks for asking."

"Good to hear," the dark-haired sergeant grinned, dropping the paper bag on the desk. "Ah, a little bird told us," he glanced at Steve briefly but pointedly, "that you guys were gonna need some… _supplies_ if you were gonna be spending a few more days with us… so…." He had opened the bag, reached in and took out a small pile of what appeared to be shirts.

Both San Franciscan detectives were watching him, frowning. Steve shook his head, looking slightly confused. "What…?"

"You happened to mention in passing about needing some clean clothes if you guys were gonna stay on longer…" McCann shrugged.

"I did?" Steve's focus turned inward, trying to remember. Mike looked at him and chuckled.

"Well, you did have a couple of Tylenol in you… that probably didn't help…" McCann laughed, taking two shirts off the top of the pile. He crossed to the far bed. "Mike, I believe these are your size… I hope you like the colors."

Looking slightly stunned, Mike reached out to take the shirts, his eyes sliding up to meet McCann's. "Ah, wow… I was not expecting this," he said with a soft chuckle. "I love 'em." He looked at the label on the neck of the light blue one and frowned. "How did you know my size?"

Laughing, McCann had returned to the desk and picked up the other shirts. "I'm a detective remember?" he chortled then glanced towards his partner when Mike pinned him with a glare. "Pete asked the nurse who took your shirt off in Emergency and she told us." He looked at Steve as he handed him two shirts as well. "We had to guess for you," he shrugged with another laugh.

Grinning, Steve managed to maneuver the top shirt with his right hand so he could read the label. He shrugged in surprise. "You got it right."

McCann and Waters shared a grin. "Ah, but that's not all," the Irish cop teased, reaching back into the bag and pulling out several more plastic-wrapped packages. He tossed three on the foot of Mike's bed, the others on Steve's. "I got you boxers and you briefs," he said, punctuating the throws. "And I had to guess at your sizes… so…" he shrugged, "sorry if they don't fit… And socks, black and white. I hope that covers everything… well, figuratively speaking of course," he chuckled to himself at his lame joke.

Slightly wide-eyed, both San Francisco detectives were staring at the newly acquired bounty. Mike shot the dark-haired sergeant a look and, picking up the bag of boxer shorts, growled good-naturedly, "If you had to guess our sizes, let's just hope you guessed too big instead of, you know…"

Everybody laughed.

Steve was feeling the material on one of the shirts. "Jeez, uh, was not expecting this… so, uh, how much do we owe you?"

"Owe us?" Water echoed, grinning and shaking his head. "Not a thing. The department's paying for it."

"Do they know that yet?" Mike asked knowingly and the Palm Springs detectives shared an uneasy look.

"Uh… not quite yet," Waters confirmed with a soft chuckle. "So, listen, uh," he said quickly, changing the subject. "About yesterday…"

Instantly getting their full attention, both Mike and Steve put their new clothes on the beds and leaned forward almost simultaneously, Mike shaking his head in frustration as he tried to suppress a wince. "Yeah, what was all that about?" the younger cop asked. "There was nothing in the file about Spencer having a wife or a girlfriend –"

"And nobody knew about that, I can tell you," McCann interrupted gently. "Turns out she's neither."

"Then who is she?" Mike asked.

"Her name is Dorothy Mainard and she's known to the PSPD." Waters glanced at his partner. "Charlie and I've never heard of her but some of the other guys have. She's, ah… she's a drug dealer…"

Both San Francisco detectives frowned. Steve cocked his head. "I don't remember anything in Spencer's file about him and drugs, was there…?" he asked slowly and the two PS cops shook their heads.

"Nope," Waters confirmed, "but I guess he started 'cause when the boys went through his house last night, they found a couple of pounds of coke, half a bale of marijuana and a couple of grams of heroin."

Mike closed his eyes and shook his head with a dry snort.

"Whoa," Steve breathed, his jaw dropping open slightly. "So, ah, am I to take it from what you just said that they may have thought we were there about the drugs…?"

Waters and McCann nodded in unison. "Yeah," Waters said with a heavy sigh. "Spencer even told us so during the interview last night. And, ah, Miss Mainard…? She not his wife or his girlfriend, she's his supplier. She brings the drugs in from Los Angeles about once a month… and yesterday was delivery day…"

Mike and Steve looked at each other; the older man smirked. "I've always told you, timing is everything…" he said dryly and the others chuckled.

Shaking his head and smiling, Steve looked at Waters again. "So, ah, are we also to assume that Spencer and, ah… Mainard had nothing to do with the Trammel murder…?"

The PS detectives nodded again. "Spencer has an alibi, says he was in L.A…." McCann confirmed with a resigned sigh. "We're gonna check it out, of course, but on the surface it seems legit. So…" He shrugged.

Steve turned to look at his partner once more, who dropped his head and sighed.

"That would've been too easy, wouldn't it?" the older man chuckled mirthlessly. Then he looked at Waters and McCann and smiled, picking up one of the new shirts from the bed beside him. "Well, maybe you can say this is payment for us catching a couple of drug dealers for you, what'd'ya think?"

McCann laughed and Waters nodded his head vigorously, grinning. "Yeah, that'll fly." He got up, picking up the chair he'd been sitting on and putting it back under the desk. "Listen, ah, we're gonna get outa here, let you guys rest. And we have wives and kids to get home to as well."

Mike began to push himself up but McCann quickly waved him back. "No, don't get up, Mike. We'll see ourselves out," he chuckled.

Waters stopped at the open door and turned back. "Are you guys gonna be okay on your own for the rest of the day?"

Both injured cops nodded. "The lady in the office recommended this pizza place nearby that delivers," Steve said. "We'll be fine."

"Okay, well, so we'll pick you up tomorrow morning around 9, like we said." Waters looked at them both again and sighed. "Listen, fellas, ah, we're really sorry about what happened, you know…"

Mike raised his head and smiled. "No need to apologize, Pete. None of this is your fault, believe me. And it coulda turned out a whole lot worse than it did, so… we're good, believe me…"

With grateful nods, the two PS sergeants stepped through the doorway. "Take it easy," McCann said as he closed the door.

An almost uncomfortable silence filled the room for a few seconds as neither of them moved, mulling over what they had just learned about the previous day's events. Then Mike reached out and felt the material on one of the shirts again. He started to laugh softly as he pushed himself to the edge of the bed.

Steve looked over. "Going somewhere?"

"I'm going to take a shower and get out of these," he gestured at himself as he got gingerly to his feet and picked up the pile of new clothes. He moved slowly to his overnight bag, putting the shirts and underwear down beside it before taking out his pajamas. "I want to be comfortable if I'm going to be spending the rest of the day in bed," he said with a resigned sigh as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Steve watched him go, then got up and went to the desk, pulling yesterday's newspaper out of the garbage can. He set it on the bed, trying with limited success to straighten it out as he looked for the TV listings page.

By the time Mike emerged, freshly showered and wearing his pajamas, Steve was leaning against the head of the bed again and cracking his way through the bottom third of the bag of sunflower seeds. There was a small mountain of half-shells on a couple of opened Kleenex near his right hand and a fresh bottle of Coke he gotten from the vending machine near the office. He looked up with a grin as Mike put his clothes in his bag then moved slowly to the bed, gritting his teeth as he lowered himself carefully, swinging his legs up and leaning back against the pillows. He closed his eyes with a soft moan.

"You okay?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah… residual soreness…" he chuckled softly, exhaling loudly and opening his eyes. He looked at the TV and his eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you watching?"

Steve smiled up at him. "It's called _'Insight'_.?"

Mike shook his head. "Never heard of it." He stared at the screen silently for several long seconds. "Is that Walter Matthau?"

"Umh-humh."

"What's it all about?"

Steve popped another handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth before shaking his head. "I have no idea, but it has something to do with the Catholic Church…" he mumbled around the seeds.

Mike shot him a look before asking, "Then why are you watching it?"

Sucking the salt off the seeds, he turned to his partner and smiled. "Because when it's over, the Dodgers-Phillies game is gonna start."

Mike's eyes slid towards him slowly. "You're not kidding, are you?" he asked hopefully.

With a closed-mouth grin, Steve shook his head. "Nope."

Smiling warmly, Mike looked back at the TV and slumped comfortably against the pillows. He shrugged to himself. "It's the Dodgers… but still…" He glanced at Steve again and chuckled. "I guess I'll root for the Phillies."


	43. Chapter 43

"So how does the Caprice handle?" Steve asked from the back seat as the unmarked Palm Springs Police Department sedan headed down Sunrise Way. It was just after 9 and the four detectives were on their way to the Sahara Mobile Home Park.

Mike and Steve had managed to have an uneventful night. The older man had fallen asleep before the Phillies-Dodgers game had ended but woken up when the pizza Steve ordered arrived, and managed to stay awake for most of the _McCloud_ rerun.

And with the aid of a couple of Tylenol each, both of them had slept soundly through the night and woken feeling demonstrably better than the day before. They were waiting in the motel's small café after a light breakfast when the PS sergeants arrived.

McCann glanced into the rearview mirror. "Great," he smiled. "I find it a little more maneuverable than that boat that you guys drive." He chuckled. "I was up in 'Frisco a few years ago and – wow! Those hills! How the hell do you guys get around those hills in those big cars of yours?"

Steve didn't respond immediately; he was staring at the back of his partner's head. It was easier, and less painful, for Mike to get in and out of the front passenger seat; Steve was sitting directly behind him. He had seen the older man freeze when McCann had used the despised nickname of his beloved hometown and he knew that Mike was legendary for his lectures on the subject. And now the only San Franciscan native in the car was looking straight ahead through the windshield, no doubt wrestling with himself as to whether he should broach the subject or be generous and choose to ignore it.

McCann was looking in the rearview mirror, anticipating a response that didn't seem to be forthcoming. His smile began to waver. Waters' bemused stare was bouncing back and forth between his partner and Steve, curious as to why the young inspector was staring at the back of his own partner's head.

Into the silence, Mike cleared his throat, and Steve gritted his teeth in an effort not to laugh. Very slowly the lieutenant's head swiveled towards the driver. "Charlie," he said sweetly, and Steve bit his lips, "there's one thing that people from San Francisco never call their beautiful city… and that's 'Frisco. It's like calling a beautiful woman a broad… it's done, but it's not polite, if you know what I mean…"

His smile now completely gone, McCann's eyes were snapping back and forth between the road ahead of them and the man on the seat beside him, trying to judge the depth of feeling behind the words. He seemed to realize that, despite the even tone and slight smile, Mike was taking this very seriously.

"Oh, ah…" McCann said quietly, his eyes now glued to the road in front of him. "Uh, sorry, I, ah… I didn't realize that… sorry…"

Mike's smile grew wider. "No worries, Charlie, we all live and learn."

"Yes, we do…" McCann muttered, nodding, "yes, we do…"

Steve was almost unable to contain his laughter and Waters could plainly see the effort it was taking. Trying to mask his own grin, he reached across the back seat and gently touched the younger man's arm, being careful to avoid the cast. Steve looked over, chuckling silently and Waters raised his eyebrows.

McCann cleared his throat louder than necessary. "Ah, we're here," he announced, gesturing with his head through the windshield. The other three looked in the direction he was indicating; the Sahara Mobile Home Park sign had come into view up ahead.

The mood in the car changed quickly. Steve guided McCann to the south end of the park and the Caprice came to a stop several homes away from their destination. The engine was turned off but nobody moved right away; all eyes were on the ramshackle trailer halfway down the block.

"All right, gentlemen," Waters said flatly, "we'll proceed like we discussed. Charlie and I will approach the residence and see if Darren Keyes is home. We'll enter if he lets us and make sure he's alone, or that we're aware of anyone else in there, and then you two will join us. Okay?"

Not taking his eyes from the trailer, Mike nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Waters looked across the back seat; Steve nodded as well.

All four doors opened simultaneously and the two Palm Springs detectives got out first; it took the injured San Francisco cops a little longer. All four unsnapped their holsters. Waters had brought his back-up gun for Mike; no one wanted to take any more unnecessary chances.

Looking around, Waters and McCann turned towards the Keyes' trailer. "Don't forget I'm moving with a sloth-like speed today," Mike reminded them with a weak grin and a soft, self-deprecating laugh. They glanced at him, smiling and nodding, before they started down the road.

Mike looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows, still grinning. Steve smiled back but the worry was evident in his eyes. The older man tilted his head, his grin wavering as he looked pointedly at the cast still in the sling under his partner's coat then stared into his hooded eyes. "I'm okay…" he said quietly.

With McCann staying on the road, his hand on the grip of the .38 still in its holster, Waters approached the trailer, knocking loudly on the battered aluminum door through the ripped outer screen. "Darren Keyes! Palm Springs Police Department! Open the door please!"

There was so sound of movement from within the trailer. Waters glanced back at his partner and tried again. "Darren Keyes! PSPD! Open the door!" The knock had become a pounding fist.

After a split second they heard a small lock disengage; the inside door was ripped open and a deep, sleepy voice growled. "What the hell do you want? I ain't done nothin'."

Waters tried to make out any features through the rusty screen door. "Darren Keyes?" he demanded, holding up his badge. The blurry face nodded vaguely. "I'm Sergeant Waters, that's Sergeant McCann. We need to ask you a coupla questions." It was a demand, not a request, and Keyes knew it. He took a step back and nodded.

As Waters opened the screen door, he looked down the street towards the Caprice and nodded once, sharply. Mike and Steve started towards the trailer, Steve keeping pace with his slow-moving partner. McCann waited for them and they approached the trailer together.

Waters was already inside, standing over Keyes, who was sitting on the end of one of the benches of the nook built into the side of the trailer. The small mobile home was cramped but remarkably, in sharp contrast to the exterior, clean and tidy. Keyes was a slightly built man in his thirties, about Steve's height, with long blond hair and a neat Van Dyke. He was wearing a yellow-and-green Hawaiian shirt, boogie shorts and sandals.

McCann stood on the grassless lawn outside the door, allowing the two San Franciscan detectives to enter; he knew the trailer wouldn't be big enough for all of them. Mike slowly and carefully climbed the rickety metal stairs to the doorway under Steve's watchful eye.

Waters waited until Steve got to the top of the steps to introduce them. "This is Lieutenant Stone… and Inspector Keller. They're with San Francisco Homicide," he said loudly and pointedly, all three pairs of professional eyes watching closely for any kind of response.

They got it; Keyes eyes widened slightly and his nostrils flared almost imperceptibly. With a humourless smile, Mike took a half-step closer to the nook. "Mr. Keyes, do you know a Mr. John Trammel?"

Waters cut him a quick glance; the lieutenant wasn't wasting any time. He admired that.

With Steve and Waters watching silently, Keyes met the hard blue-eyed stare evenly for several very long seconds. Then the younger man blinked quickly and looked down, and they all knew they had him.

Mike's posture relaxed and he slipped his hands into his pants pockets. He glanced briefly at his partner before he asked almost conversationally, "Did you kill him?"

Keyes' head snapped up quickly, frowning. "No!" he almost yelled then got control of himself and dropped his eyes again, shaking his head. "No…no, I did not."

"But you know he's dead." It was a statement, not a question.

Biting his lower lip, Keyes' head came up again and he glared at Mike for a beat before spitting out, "Yeah, I know he's dead!"

"But you didn't kill him…" Mike confirmed with a soft, skeptical chuckle. "Okay, Darren, if you didn't kill him, then how do you know he's dead? 'Cause we didn't know ourselves who he even was until just a couple of days ago – and he was killed in our city, right…?" He looked pointedly at Steve, who nodded in assent, before he continued. "And we know that the Palm Springs police," he gestured with a tilt of his head towards Waters, "didn't issue any kind of statement about Trammel being murdered up in San Francisco last month… So, Mr. Keyes, if you didn't kill him, then how do you know John Trammel is dead?"

Keyes' pale blue eyes slid slowly from Mike's to Steve's to Waters' and back to Mike's again, pursing his lips then sucking on his teeth before he took a deep breath. He exhaled loudly, his eyes dropping to the floor. "Because I know who did kill him…"

The three detectives stared at the top of Keyes' downturned head, none of them moving. Eventually Mike shifted slightly, taking his hands out of his pockets and leaning forward, putting one hand on the table and one on the back of the bench seat Keyes was sitting on, effectively pinning him in place. They were almost nose-to-nose.

Keyes stared unblinking into the hard blue eyes, swallowing heavily. After a couple of silent seconds, the lieutenant said quietly, "Well, then, Mr. Keyes, we're going to have to ask you to come downtown with us and answer a few questions. Do you have a problem with that?" He smiled coldly.

Blinking slowly, Keyes' eyes slid slowly from Mike's face up to Waters, who nodded with raised eyebrows and a rictus smile, then returned to the San Francisco detective, who hadn't backed off an inch. He swallowed heavily again and shrugged slightly. "No…" he said unsteadily, his voice little more than a croak, "no, I don't have a problem with that…"

Mike smiled. "Good," he said brightly, and slowly pushed himself up into a standing position again, taking a step back to allow Keyes to get up.

Waters, with a quick, appreciative glance at the lieutenant, stepped forward and put a hand on Keyes arm, pulling him up and propelling him towards the door.

Steve looked at his partner, frowning. 'Are you okay?', he mouthed, knowing the simple act of leaning forward like that would be extremely painful for the older man at the moment.

Smiling reassuringly, Mike nodded quickly, starting to follow Waters and Keyes out of the trailer.

By the time they got to the Caprice, Waters had opened the back door, pushed Keyes to the middle of the backseat and was getting in beside him on the passenger side. McCann turned to Steve, eyebrows raised. "Ah, we didn't really expect to be doing this… so?" He shrugged, taking the car keys out of his jacket pocket and holding them out towards the surprised inspector. "You think you can drive?"

"Uh, yeah," Steve stumbled, his hand going out automatically to accept the keys. They both felt Mike's eyes on them and they turned to him, expecting to be reprimanded.

Mike glared at them for a long second then his focus turned to McCann. "If there's anyone I trust to drive one-handed, it's him," he said with a smile, nodding towards his partner.

Chuckling, McCann dropped the keys into Steve's hand, then opened the driver's side back door and got in beside Keyes.

Mike slowly circled the car to the passenger side door and opened it; Steve watched him expressionlessly over the top of the car. As Mike started to get in, he met the younger man's eyes across the roof and froze. Slowly, a grateful smile spread over Steve's face and he nodded once, slowly. With a warm grin, Mike winked before, chuckling, he climbed slowly and carefully into the Caprice.


	44. Chapter 44

Mike, Steve and Waters stopped in the corridor outside the interview room door. Wanting to project a relaxed and non-threatening front, they had left their jackets in the CAPS office. Mike and Waters had rolled up their sleeves and loosened their ties and now, before entering the room, Mike was rolling up Steve's right sleeve, chuckling, looking down and muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "I feel like I'm getting you ready to go out to play after school…"

Steve, staring at the top of his partner's down-turned head with an affectionate smile, glanced at Waters, who was trying not to laugh. Done, Mike stepped back and grinned as Steve raised his right hand to loosen his own tie.

The older man looked at the other two and raised his eyebrows. "Well, shall we, gentlemen?"

Nodding, Waters handed Mike the folder he'd been carrying and opened the door then stepped back to let the San Francisco cops enter ahead of him.

McCann was leaning against the wall in the opposite corner, his arms crossed. Keyes was sitting in the lone chair on the far side of the metal table. Waters closed the door after they were all in, then stood in front of it while Mike and Steve moved to the two chairs on the near side, Mike tossing the file on the table before sitting. Keeping his eyes on Keyes, he slid the folder along the table towards his partner.

Surprised but trying not to show it, Steve glanced quickly at Mike, who was continuing to stare at Keyes, then, trying not to smile, he took a pen out of his shirt pocket and opened the file, patting his tie down and leaning forward slightly to rest his right forearm against the edge of the table.

"So, ah, Mr. Keyes, how do you know John Trammel?"

Keyes looked from Steve to Mike then to the others. "Hey, ah, don't I get read my rights or something?"

Mike looked up at Waters, who took a step forward. "You're not a suspect, are you, Mr. Keyes? We only read the Miranda warning to suspects. If you want us to consider you a suspect –?"

"No no," Keyes responded quickly, raising his hands. "No…. I just thought…" He turned his worried eyes back to the two men on the other side of the table.

Steve smiled mirthlessly. "So, once again, Mr. Keyes, how do you know John Trammel?"

His eyes flicking to Mike and back again, he inhaled deeply. "About five months ago the bastard sold me a faulty car."

"A faulty car?" Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, it, ah, it stopped running two days after I got it. The engine seized. Turns out it hadn't had an oil change for over a year." He sneered angrily, looking down and shaking his head. "I gave that bastard all the money I had left… I needed that car. I'd just got a good job on the other side of town and I needed that car to get to work…" He looked up, the still festering anger still visible in his entire demeanor. "He did nothin'… he didn't give me my money back and he didn't give me another car…"

"Why didn't you sue him?" Mike asked with a gentle shrug and Keyes' eyes snapped in his direction.

"'Cause that bastard pulled a fast one on me. He didn't tell me that his 'Money Back Guarantee' was something you had to sign when you bought the car… and he conveniently _forgot_ to give me that paper to sign when I paid him… He told me I wouldn't have a leg to stand on if I took him to court…" He exhaled loudly.

"And there, ah… there was this clause in the contract I signed that I didn't see…" he continued quietly, looking down again. "The _fine print_… It said I was buying the car '_as is'…_" He sighed. "I didn't even see that…"

Steve glanced at his partner; he could tell that Mike believed what Keyes was saying, just like he did. "But you were… detained by the PSPD for assaulting Trammel, were you not?"

The blond surfer wannabe looked at him and nodded dejectedly. "Yeah… yeah, I _assaulted _him. I tried to wring his neck is what I did… He's just lucky I didn't have a gun," he snorted.

"So were you," Mike said simply and Keyes' eyes snapped in his direction again.

After a silent second, Keyes chuckled mirthlessly. "Yeah, I guess I was, hunh?"

"Did you see him again after that?" Steve asked, watching the pale blue eyes slide once more towards him.

"No, I wanted nothing to do with that cheap chiseler after that."

"So how do you know about him getting killed in San Francisco last month?"

Slowly leaning back in the metal chair, Keyes stared at the younger cop without blinking for several long seconds. "What do I get if I tell you?"

"You get to walk out of here a free man," Mike said quietly, leaving the rest of the empty threat unspoken, knowing that Keyes would suspect the worst.

Staring at the older cop, Keyes swallowed heavily, blinked then returned his gaze to the younger partner. Steve smiled coldly. "Again, what _do_ you know about Trammel getting killed in San Francisco?"

Keyes looked down and took a long deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds, then released it loudly. He looked up and met the expectant but patient green eyes across the table. "I knew he was there and I know who killed him."

His heart starting to pound, Steve leaned back slightly, trying to project the calm he was no longer feeling. "We're listening," he said softly, including his partner with a tilt of his head.

Keyes inhaled again. "About four months ago, just after we'd had our little… altercation, a friend of mine found out that his wife was having an affair with Trammel… and she left him. She even moved in with that little rat bastard, right under my friend's nose… My friend, he took it, for awhile… but she was the love of his life, or so he thought, and he couldn't get over it…"

He looked up, taking in McCann and Waters, who was nodding knowingly. "He started stalking them… following them in his car… going into the same restaurants when they went out… Not bad enough to get himself arrested, mind you, but enough to put the fear of God into Trammel. He's not much of a fighter, if you get my drift… He's a slimy little worm… but for some reason the women really fell for him…" He shook his head sadly. "I have no idea why…"

"Do you know why he went to San Francisco?" Steve asked, making notes in the file.

Keyes stared at him from under a lowered brow. "I don't know for sure, of course, but I have a pretty good idea."

Steve shrugged. "Tell us."

"He felt threatened…"

"For his life?"

"Umh-humh. This friend of mine? He, ah, he let it be known that if he got the chance, he was gonna kill Trammel."

"How did he _let it be known_?" Mike asked quietly and Keyes' eyes snapped his way again.

"He sent Trammel a letter."

"Your friend told you that?"

Keyes nodded. "He told me about it… after he sent it."

"What did it say?" Steve asked.

"That if Trammel didn't get out of town he wasn't going to be walking around much longer…"

"Is that how your friend put it… that he wouldn't be _walking around_?"

"Trammel knew what that meant. It scared the shit out of the little bastard and he left town."

Steve frowned. "Alone? You mean he left the guy's wife?"

Keyes smirked. "High and dry. I told you, he was a worm."

"So how do you know he went to San Francisco?"

"I didn't at first. Neither did my friend."

"So how did your friend track him down up there?"

Keyes started to laugh. "Do you believe in serendipity, Detective?" he asked with a smirk. His glare shooting to Mike, he snarled defensively, "And yeah, I know what that means."

Mike smiled and tilted his head with an approving facial shrug and a gentle chuckle. Despite himself, he was beginning to like this guy.

Keyes looked back at Steve. "A guy that we both know went up to San Francisco for a weekend with his girlfriend… and he spotted Trammel in a restaurant on the Wharf. I guess the doofus didn't think anybody from Palm Springs would go up there."

"How did this guy know Trammel?"

Keyes snorted. "Stupid bastard had lost a pile a money to Trammel in a poker game about a year ago, which is probably a first 'cause Trammel was real bad at gambling, from what I heard…" He chuckled almost evilly. "Anyway, this guy knew about Trammel running off with my friend's wife and he gave him a call." He looked from one San Francisco cop to the other. "Hey, Palm Springs is a small place… everybody knows everybody, or pretty damn close…"

They could hear both Waters and McCann murmur unintelligibly in consent behind them.

"So how do you know it was this friend of yours who actually killed Trammel?"

After staring at the younger cop without expression for several seconds, Keyes finally dropped his eyes. "Because he called me… the day after he did it, he called me…"

"Why?"

He shrugged, still looking down. "I don't know. Maybe he just needed to tell someone…" He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "He'd lost all his friends after his wife left and he… he sorta lost his mind too, I guess… I think I was the only one that was still talking to him… "

"What did he say to you, exactly?"

Keyes took another deep breath. "He, ah, he didn't get into much detail…" he said softly, shrugging, "but I kinda got the impression he did it with his hands." He looked up at Mike and Steve almost hopefully, as if he was expecting one of them to confirm or deny. He was sorely disappointed. Shrugging, he added, "He, ah, he never owed a gun and I don't think he'd know where to get one…"

Nodding, Steve smiled mirthlessly for the clarification. "Did he say where he did it?"

Sighing petulantly, Keyes shook his head. "He just said that Trammel was dead and nobody had to worry about the bastard ruining anymore lives… That's all he said, I swear."

Mike leaned forward slightly. "Do you remember exactly what day he called you?"

Keyes' pale blue eyes narrowed as he struggled to recall then he shook his head. "Naw, I know it was a few weeks ago…" He shrugged cavalierly.

"Well, do you know if he's still in San Francisco, or did he come home?" Steve asked trying to contain his growing irritation.

Keyes looked at him and shrugged again. "He didn't come home, I know that for sure, but if he's still up in 'Frisco, I have no idea…"

All four detectives froze momentarily where they were, Steve's pen hovering above the paper he was taking notes on. He heard a stifled laugh from McCann behind him and, peripherally, saw Waters fidget, his hands jammed into his pants pockets and looking down. Mike, staring at Keyes, hadn't moved.

Still holding his pen in midair, Steve let his eyes slide slowly towards his partner, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling.

The very pregnant pause stretched out. Keyes, now frowning in confusion, looked from the older cop across the table from him to the younger and back again.

Still staring without blinking, Mike took a deep breath, held it for a long second then asked quietly, "By any chance do you know where he was staying when he was up in _San Francisco_?" There was no mistaking the emphasis on every syllable of the final two words and Keyes' head went back slightly before he answered.

"Uh, no… no, I don't. But he's not a rich guy, if you know what I mean, so I don't think he was staying on Nob Hill." He grinned, impressed by his own wit, but the feeling wasn't shared and his smile quickly vanished. He cleared his throat. "That's, ah, that's all I know…" he finished quietly, lowering his head.

"Not quite all," Steve smiled, staring across the table expectantly.

Keyes looked up at him again and shrugged.

"The name?" Steve prompted, raising his eyebrows. "We need your friend's name."

Keyes' knit brows suddenly rose and he chuckled. "Oh yeah…" He looked from Steve to Mike, who stared back expressionlessly, and Keyes' sobered again.

Waters took a step closer to the table and McCann pushed himself away from the wall. They had all reached the same conclusion - that Waters had been right from the start, and that the search for Robert Bonaventure was about to begin.

"Matt Goodman… ah, Matthew… Matthew Goodman." Keyes shrugged with a soft chuckle. He was looking at the paper that Steve had been taking notes on, frowning when the cop didn't write the name down.

Very slowly the two detectives looked at each other expressionlessly. Then Steve tossed the pen on the pad and sat back heavily. Mike leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and running his hands down his face with a loud sigh.

Waters and McCann hesitated, noting the odd reactions from their colleagues, and waited where they stood. Snorting wryly, Mike turned to Waters with a humourless smile. "Matthew Goodman is the name Trammel used to check into the hotel."


	45. Chapter 45

"No shit?" Keyes laughed. "Trammel used Matt's name?"

All four pairs of eyes in the room snapped towards him and his broad grin disappeared instantly. He dropped his head and cleared his throat softly, as if realizing he was still in a precarious situation.

Mike looked up at Waters. "Does that name ring any bells with you guys?" he asked. Both PS sergeants shook their heads, shrugging.

"Do you know where Matthew Goodman used to live here in town?" Steve asked, pinning Keyes with his best Stone glare.

Realizing he wasn't quite off the hook yet, Keyes swallowed heavily. "Yeah… I don't know the number but I know the street…"

"Good." Steve looked at Waters, who stepped closer to the table. From now on, they all knew, any further investigation into Matthew Goodman's life was a Palm Springs Police Department matter.

"Mr. Keyes, we're going to need to you to accompany my partner and me to Mr. Goodman's place of residence. Can you do that for us?" He phrased it as a request but everyone in the room, including the man they had been interrogating, knew that it wasn't.

Keyes' eyes travelled around the room quickly before he nodded, staring at Waters. "Ah, sure, no problem… It's, ah, it's not too far from my place, actually." He shrugged with an anemic chuckle.

Waters moved behind the table and grabbed Keyes not too gently by the arm, pulling him to his feet. He looked at his partner. "Charlie, could you take Mr. Keyes to our office? I'll join you in a few minutes."

"Sure will," McCann smiled, crossing to the door and opening it as their suspect-turned-witness was propelled towards him. As he pushed Keyes out into the corridor, he explained, "Now I need to remind you, Mr. Keyes, that after we take you home later today we may need to speak to you again so you're not to leave Palm Springs for any reason –" The door closed behind them, shutting off the rest of the warning.

Steve had finished up with the notes and closed the file. He turned the chair slightly so he was facing his partner a little more directly. Waters had circled the table and dropped into the chair Keyes had just vacated.

Mike, who had been staring into space, snorted, shaking his head. He looked at Steve, running his right hand over his face again. He was tired and sore but he wasn't about to admit it, especially now that they had their first solid lead in the Goodman case. He shook his head again. "The balls on that guy… Trammel," he said with a dry chuckle. "I mean to actually use the name of the guy who's been threatening you…"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "I don't know if it's balls or… brilliance. I mean, really? Running around another city, using the same name as the guy who's stalking you…? What are the odds that, should somebody run into the real Goodman who's trying to track him down, that that somebody's going to mention to him that someone using his name is trying to find him?" He looked from Mike to Waters and shrugged. "I think it's brilliant."

Mike looked at Waters with a somewhat comical frown. "I think I followed that," he said with quick laugh. "But he's right, you know," he admitted, nodding towards Steve, "that is pretty savvy." He looked back at his partner and nodded. "Okay, well, we know what we have to do now, don't we?" he asked rhetorically, focusing on Waters with raised eyebrows.

Steve, who was having a harder and hander time trying to hide his growing concern, glanced at Waters, who picked up the unexpressed cue.

"Ah, listen, Mike, checking out Goodman's house is something Charlie and I can do… and, ah, after all, it _is_ our jurisdiction. I kinda feel we haven't really been pulling our weight in this investigation up till now and, well, not to put too fine a point on it… I think you two need a break before you head home tomorrow… don't you?"

Steve had watched Mike's frown deepen as Waters argued his point, and he was preparing for the angry rebuttal. He was actually taken aback when Mike dropped his head and snorted softly, then looked back up at Waters smiling.

"You know, Pete, I think that's a great idea." He glanced at his partner and shook his head, chuckling. "You weren't expecting me to say that, were you?"

Caught, Steve laughed self-consciously, glancing at Waters and shaking his head. "No, I wasn't." His smile disappeared. "Are you okay?"

Mike smiled warmly, nodding. "Yeah, I'm just a little sore. I think an afternoon nap would do me a helluva lot of good. But you… you can tag along with them if you want." He looked at Waters with raised eyebrows.

The PS sergeant's head went back. "Yeah," he said quickly, "sure, of course."

Steve hadn't taken his eyes from his partner's face. As tempted as he was to take him up on the offer, he was too worried to leave Mike alone right now. It wasn't often the older man would admit to feeling less than a hundred percent. "No, it's okay," he said quietly, "I'll go back to the motel with Mike. I could use the break too."

Mike knew he was lying but chose to ignore it. He smiled slightly, shooting his younger partner a grateful look.

Waters, his eyes snapping back and forth between them, slapped the table lightly. "Okay, so Charlie and I'll take Keyes over to Goodman's and we'll go through the place, see if we can turn up anything about where, or maybe with who, he was staying up in San Francisco," he punctuated the name with a quick grin at Mike, who chuckled and shook his head a couple of times, "and at the same time I'll get Records to put together a file if they come up with anything on him. Then we'll bring everything we've got over to the motel… let's say, around dinnertime?" He looked from Mike to Steve. "Does that work for you guys?"

"Works for me," Mike confirmed with a nod, glancing at his partner, who did the same.

Waters got to his feet. "All right then, let's get you guys on your way and Charlie and I'll hit the road with Keyes." He picked up the file folder.

Steve put the pen back in his pocket then stood. Mike had closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before putting both hands on the table to push himself up. Steve grabbed his elbow to offer what little assistance he could with his one good hand, surprised and a little disconcerted that Mike didn't shake him off like he usually did.

Waters, frowning, looked at Steve. "Look, ah, why don't you make your way to the front door and I'll meet you there with your jackets…and your hat… Save you a trip to the CAPS office…" he offered with a slight shrug.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, that's a good idea." Mike nodded slowly.

# # # # #

He looked across the seat again; Mike's head was back, the fedora over his eyes. Their jackets were on the seat between them. He spun the wheel with his right hand as they turned a corner, not for the first time grateful that the LTD had power steering.

He had ditched the sling, stuffing it in his pocket; it was almost 48 hours now and the cast was hard enough, he thought. And the swelling in his fingers had gone down enough that he could use them again. Small mercies, he thought.

He pulled the sedan into the space in front of their motel room and turned the engine off. Mike raised his head and pushed the brim of the hat up with his right index finger, smiling slightly when he recognized where they were.

He opened the door and turned slowly in the seat to put his feet on the ground. Remembering his jacket, he started to turn back to grab it when Steve said quickly, "Leave it, I'll get it."

With an almost distracted nod, Mike put his hands on either side of the door and pulled himself slowly to his feet, holding his breath until he was upright. The pain he was feeling was obvious and Steve watched him with a worried frown. Leaving the door open, he walked very slowly to the motel room door, reaching into his pants pocket for the key.

Grabbing the two jackets, Steve got out quickly, tossing them over the cast on his left forearm as he slammed both doors and locked the car. Mike was already inside and moving towards his bed when Steve entered and closed the door.

"Sit," he said, tossing the jackets on the desk, watching as Mike slowly lowered himself to the bed. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you to a doctor?" the younger man asked worriedly as he crossed the room to him.

Under the fedora, Mike looked up at him and smiled. "I'm okay… I just have to lie down for awhile." He took the hat off and tried to toss it on the desk but missed.

With an almost angry shake of his head, born out of frustration and concern, he knew, Steve reached over, picked up the hat and placed it on the desk, then turned back to his partner. Mike had started to lean forward to take off his shoes. "Just sit there," Steve instructed sharply and Mike stopped moving instantly.

"Okay," he said softly, knowing he was being reprimanded for being so stubborn.

Using his now mobile left fingers, Steve managed to get the older man's shoes off then reached up to remove the already loose tie. With a grateful nod, Mike carefully laid back, swinging his legs up onto the bed and readjusting himself against the pillows. Finding a comfortable position, he closed his eyes and sighed. "Thanks, buddy boy," he whispered.

As he turned to his own bed, Steve froze briefly then smiled. "You're welcome," he answered softly. He sat on the edge, taking off his gun and placing it carefully on the small table between the beds, then pulling off his tie, keeping his eyes on Mike.

Kicking off his shoes, he got to his feet and crossed to the window beside the front door, closing the curtains to block out the sunlight as best he could. Then he returned to the bed and laid down, staring at his partner and best friend, hoping that this little excursion to the southern part of the state wouldn't prove to have been too much for the still recovering man.

# # # # #

There was a soft knock on the wooden door. Steve started, snapping awake, surprised that he had actually fallen asleep. His head swiveled to the bed beside him; Mike hadn't moved.

He got quickly to his feet and crossed to the door, opening it only wide enough to see who was there. Waters and McCann were standing in the still blazing late afternoon sun, both wearing dark glasses and wide smiles. Waters held up a thick file folder. "We've got information," he announced loudly and Steve shushed him quickly, slipping out the door to close it behind him.

"Mike's still asleep," he said softly, raising his cast-covered left arm to put his forefinger to his lips.

McCann frowned. "How's he doing?"

Steve shrugged. "I'm not sure. He keeps telling me he's fine but…" He exhaled loudly in frustration. "I really want to get him home tomorrow." He looked pointedly at the folder in Waters' hand. "What have you got?"

The PS sergeant looked around; he wasn't particularly keen to go over everything while standing in a motel parking lot. He nodded towards the diner at the end of the row near the road. "Why don't we go over there?" he suggested.

Steve followed his gaze and nodded. "Good idea. Go on ahead. I've got to get my shoes on." He opened the door and slid quietly into the darkened room, crossing in between the beds to pick up his shoes.

He had just started back to the door when heard, "You're not going without me, are you?" He froze, spinning back to the other bed. Mike was staring at him with a small smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "How are you feeling?"

Mike took a deep breath and held it, as if taking stock of his body. He exhaled and nodded with a facial shrug. "Better." He gestured towards the door with his chin.

"Pete and Charlie?"

"Yeah. They're going over to the diner. They've got some news for us."

Nodding, Mike started to push himself up. "Wait for me, then. I'm going with you."

"Mike, you don't need to –"

"Steve, this is _our _case, right? And I think _our_ means you and me, the both of us, right?" There was no sting in his words, just amusement.

Trying not to smile the younger man nodded. "Yes," he said slowly.

"So I'm going with you." Chuckling, Mike carefully pushed himself to the edge of the bed and swung his legs to the floor. He looked up and grinned. "Are you going to try to stop me?"

"I wouldn't think of it, Lieutenant," Steve laughed as he sat on the bed to put his shoes on, watching warmly as his partner did the same.


	46. Chapter 46

They were walking very slowly towards the diner, Steve watching his partner from the corner of his eye. "You know, I could've brought them back to the room."

Mike smiled softly. "I know but… well, I don't know about you but I'm hungry." He chuckled.

Steve stared at him for a beat then tilted his head with a facial shrug. "Yeah, so am I," he admitted with a smile as he opened the glass-paneled diner door and took a step back for the older man to enter first.

Waters and McCann looked up in surprise when both San Francisco detectives appeared at their table. "Sorry, Mike, we didn't mean to wake you," Waters started quickly and Mike waved him quiet.

"You didn't, Pete, don't worry about it." He nodded genially at McCann as he started to sit.

Steve shook his head in mild frustration. "I told him we could do this in our room but he says he's hungry…"

Waters sat to attention, almost in alarm, glancing in his partner's direction before focusing on Mike. "You're not thinking of eating dinner here, are you?"

Settling into one of heavy wooden chairs with a barely suppressed groan, Mike frowned at the PS sergeant. "We've eaten here before… it's not bad."

"Really?" McCann asked, deadpan. "You want this," he gestured around them, "to be the last meal you have in Palm Springs before you head home?"

Trying not to laugh, Steve asked curiously, "Why? Do you have something else in mind?"

The sergeants looked at each other then Waters leaned across the table. "Well, we wanted to invite you guys out for a really good dinner tonight – steak, baked potatoes, cold beer – the whole enchilada. On us." He glanced at McCann, who nodded in agreement. "And if you're really hungry, we could go now and discuss this," he tapped his fingers on the large file on the table, "while we're there. What do you say?"

All eyes turned to Mike, who hadn't moved during the Waters invitation; he was staring at the sergeant expressionlessly. "Well, when you put it like that, what choice do we have?" He started to chuckle and it took the others a beat or two to realize what he had just said.

Both Waters and McCann sat back and laughed; Steve just shook his head and smirked.

"One thing, though," Mike continued, raising a forefinger, "I want to change first… wear one of those nice shirts you bought me."

Steve nodded, smiling. "Yeah, me too."

# # # # #

The waiter had left with their food orders after setting four large frosty tankards of beer on the table in front of them. Waters held his up. "Cheers!" he said loudly, waiting till the others did the same and they clinked glasses, looking into each other's eyes and echoing the toast.

Taking a sip, then licking the foam off his upper lip, Waters put his tankard down with a thud and opened the file in front of him. He wanted to share the bulk of the information they had gathered before the food arrived.

"So," he said with a loud exhale, glancing up at Mike on his right, "where do you want us to start?"

With a soft smile, Mike gestured across the table at his partner. "Steve's the lead on this one, so it's his call."

"Right," Waters corrected, his eyes snapping to the inspector in time to see the grateful look the young man had shot across the table to the lieutenant. Mike had dropped his head and was rearranging the cutlery in front of him.

"So what did you find out about Goodman?" the youngest man at the table asked with a gentle laugh.

McCann chuckled. "Well, not as much as we'd hoped. Records has nothing on him. He's clean. Well, he did have two parking tickets and he was given a warning for rolling a stop about five years ago, but other than that… he's a choirboy."

"A choirboy who killed someone…" Mike offered quietly and all eyes at the table turned to him. He raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of his beer.

"Yeah, that bothers me too," Waters said quietly, "so I've asked for a wider background check. We're trying to find out where he lived before… where he grew up if not Palm Springs… we don't have anything like that on file so it's gonna take a day or two. We don't even know if he was in the military." He glanced down at the file. "We do know he's 32." He looked up and met Steve's stare. "We got all this from DMV 'cause PSPD has, like I said, nothing on him," he explained, then went back to the file. "That makes him old enough to have been sent to 'Nam so hopefully we'll hear from the Army soon enough."

"Not just the Army, right?" Mike double-checked and both sergeants nodded.

"Yeah, we've got inquiries in to all the branches," McCann confirmed with a nod. "I was a Marine myself – in Da Nang."

Mike's snorted in surprise and turned to McCann with a wide smile. "I was a jarhead at Iwo."

"Are you kidding?!" McCann roared, picking up his tankard with almost unbridled enthusiasm. "Holy crap! Iwo?"

Mike nodded, grinning.

"We have to –!" McCann started animatedly then stopped, having caught his partner's dead-eyed stare from across the table. He put his beer back down, cleared his throat softly and lowered his voice. "Ah, you and I'll have to talk before you head home tomorrow, Mike…"

The lieutenant, noting the barely restrained but affectionate smirk on the face of his own partner, lost his goofy grin and nodded seriously. "Ah, yes, that, ah, that sounds like a good idea, Charlie." He turned a beatific smile on Waters. "Ah, you were saying, Pete…"

Shaking his head and chuckling, Waters looked down at the file again. "Yes, as I was saying, we have inquiries in to all branches of the military so hopefully we'll hear from them in the next couple of days, if not sooner." With one last chuckle, he looked up at Steve then sobered. "Now according to some paystubs we found in the house, he was employed as the auto parts manager for a small chain of west coast hardware stores that are headquartered here. Made good money from the looks of it."

"We're gonna go talk to them tomorrow morning. We wanted to meet with you guys first before you head home. Besides, we don't think they're gonna be able to tell us much." McCann punctuated his remarks with raised eyebrows and Waters nodded before he continued.

"Anyway, we didn't find anything in the house to lead us to believe he knew anybody in San Francisco but that doesn't really mean anything. We didn't find an address book or anything like that, so who knows…?"

"The house is a typical middle class bungalow, nothing special," McCann took over again. "It's nicely furnished but it does show signs of recent neglect. He probably stopped looking after it properly after his wife left him."

"Yeah," Waters added, "they were married for four years. From what we can tell, and from talking to a couple of pairs of neighbors who knew them, they were high school sweethearts. She waited for him to come back from 'Nam and they married when he was discharged. Her name is Carole, by the way. Maiden name is

Rochford but we don't know anything else about her. Don't know where she is now and we're not even sure if she still has a job or not, and the neighbors were no help there. We do know where she did work so we'll be looking into that, of course, and tracking down her family. Now according to the neighbors, they were really in love, and the whole affair with Trammel came as a shock to everyone."

"The neighbors knew about it?" Steve asked, surprised.

Waters shrugged. "Yeah, from what we were told. Seems that Carole wasn't too inclined to keep it a secret for some reason. Nobody knows why, they said."

Frowning, Mike looked at his partner. "That sounds to me like revenge, right? Do you know if Goodman had any affairs?"

"Well, none that the neighbors knew about, but those are the only people we've been able to interview on such short notice. Give us a few more days…" he finished with a shrug and both San Francisco detectives nodded.

"Sorry, guys," Steve apologized with a chuckle, "we know you're doing your best on such short notice. It's just been a little frustrating for us…"

Waters laughed genially. "No apologies necessary, Steve, we know exactly how you feel." McCann nodded in agreement.

They were silent for a couple of seconds then Mike asked, "Was there any sign of blood in the house?" They all knew he was referencing the blood they found on Trammel's kitchen floor.

McCann shook his head. "Nope, and I checked out the laundry basket and the washer and dryer. Nothing. It still doesn't mean that wasn't his blood in Trammel's house but…" He left the rest of the thought hang. "We don't know his blood type yet, of course. Oh, and we heard back from both hospitals and they have no record of anyone coming in with a knife wound on the date we provided, but that doesn't mean much either. There's a lot of doctors around here and not all of them are above board, if you know what I mean…"

They all nodded then Steve looked at Waters. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Goodman has a car, a 1970 Chevelle. It should be easy to spot – it's cherry red. We have the plate number."

Steve glanced across the table. "I'll give the guys at home a call and get an APB out on it."

"He has a credit card," Waters continued, "but we won't be able to get anything from them for several days – you know the routine, we've got to get a court order and all that – but it might help us pinpoint where he was and what he's been doing when we finally do get it."

"Unless he's smart and he's using only cash," Mike threw cold water on his enthusiasm.

Waters looked up and frowned. "Well, yeah, there's that…" Undeterred, he looked back at the file, not noticing Steve's silent chuckle; even under the weather, nothing got past his partner, he thought proudly.

They rest of the table watched as Waters scanned the remainder of the file then sat back with a small shrug. "That's about it, fellas, sorry it couldn't be more." He closed the folder and slid it towards Steve then sat back and picked up his beer.

With a quick glance at McCann, Steve shook his head with an appreciative smile. "Pete, you guys have done an amazing job on such short notice. This is a great start, believe me." He looked to Mike for confirmation and got it in the form of a decisive nod. "We've got lots to do when we get home, and we know you guys are going to fill in more blanks so, ah," he patted the folder with his right hand, "thanks for this."

Taking his partner in with a nod, Waters smiled gratefully. "Thank you, from one constantly frustrated detective to another," he chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. They all laughed knowingly. "Speaking of which, Mike," Waters continued, turning his attention to the older man on his right as he set his tankard down, "how come you're still a street detective? Why aren't you behind a desk in a cozy office instead of out pounding the pavement like the rest of us plebes?"

Steve was studying his expressionless partner, waiting for Waters to finish, knowing that sometimes this was a touchy subject for the veteran lieutenant.

Mike's smile was slow to build as he shifted in his chair. "I like the streets, Pete, and I always have… I feel more comfortable there. It's where I grew up. I know the streets of San Francisco better than I've known anything in my life… and I'll even include my late wife in that," he said with a wistful smile.

"I hear ya…" McCann said quietly and Mike's soft blue eyes slid in his direction.

He took a deep breath and lowered his head to stare, unfocused, at the table in front of him, wrapping his hands around his glass. When he spoke again, his voice sounded very far away. "I almost did a few years ago… and I don't mean take a desk-job or get off the streets… I almost retired…" He fell silent for several long seconds, three pairs of eyes staring at his downturned head, no one moving.

"My, ah, my wife was battling cancer at the time… and, ah, and then my partner… he, ah, he quit. Not just the job but the city as well… His son…" He paused and cleared his throat lightly. "His son was a cop… and he, ah, he was killed on duty… My partner, he, ah… it almost killed _him…_ and then when he quit and moved out of town…" He paused again and shrugged dispiritedly.

"That took the fight out of me too, I guess. They had offered me a captaincy… a nice cushy position behind a desk." He smiled ironically. "And I almost took it… I almost gave up the streets… but I was torn… I was actually thinking about quitting altogether…" He looked up, meeting Waters gaze self-consciously.

"What changed your mind?" the Palm Springs sergeant asked softly.

Mike's smile got a little wider and very slowly his eyes found their way across the table. "I met him," he said quietly, staring with obvious affection at the young man sitting opposite him. "And I've never looked back…"


	47. Chapter 47

Dinner was just as delicious and satisfying as Waters and McCann had promised. They had all ordered the house specialty and the thick, juicy T-bone steaks and loaded baked potatoes washed down with icy cold beers had proved be the magic elixir that all of them needed.

The mealtime conversation had turned to the usual 'war' stories about the many cases they had all investigated over the years, both closed and still open, and the strange and unusual ones they'd heard about from colleagues.

Steve was quiet at first, having a hard time swallowing past the lump in his throat. He found himself continually shooting what he hoped were inconspicuous glances at his partner, Mike's words echoing in his ears long after their food had arrived and everyone's attention had shifted.

The dirty dishes had been cleared away and coffees delivered. The conversation had petered out somewhat as they all sat back, satiated. Mike was starting to look a little tired and drawn but Steve knew he wouldn't want to spoil everyone's evening by asking, or agreeing, to go back to the motel right away.

Waters was leaning over the table, staring into his cup as he stirred. Then, seeming to make up his mind, he raised his head and looked at the lieutenant on his right. "Mike, ah… that first day you guys got here… and Steve told us about you getting shot just a couple of weeks ago…" He paused and frowned through a somewhat confused smile. "I know you guys weren't bullshitting us but… really…?"

Watching with a slight smile as the sergeant stumbled through his question, Mike shook his head gently. "No, I, ah… I was…" His headshake turned into a nod. He raised his right hand and touched his chest. "Here."

Waters glanced at his partner, both of their faces registering their awe. "And you're walking around so soon…?"

Mike chuckled. "Even the doctors were amazed. They said I got shot in the one spot where it's possible for a bullet not to hit anything vital…" He shrugged and chuckled again.

"The hospital staff were even calling him the 'Miracle Cop'," Steve added quietly, staring at his partner with a small proud smile.

McCann glanced at the younger cop before he looked at Mike again, his face a question. "Ah, listen, ah, you don't have to answer this if you don't want to but…" He shrugged. "How did it happen, if you don't mind telling us?"

Mike looked at him and smiled, shaking his head. "I don't mind. And I guess it might be a lesson to us all…" He glanced across the table and took a deep breath. "I, ah, I was following a shooting suspect in an alley behind a grocery store in Chinatown. And probably, in hindsight, I shouldn't have done that. I just happened to be in the vicinity when it went down and, well, you guys know, instincts kick in and you give chase, whether you should or not, right?"

The others nodded in affirmation; they'd all been in that situation at one time or another in their careers.

"Anyway, the alley was very dark with these… blinding shafts of sunlight. It was really hard to see. The shooter had gotten away and I was heading back up the alley towards the store, putting my gun away, and, ah… that's when I got hit."

McCann looked at his partner and frowned. "So who shot you?"

Mike looked at Steve again and cleared his throat. The younger man knew the veteran cop was reluctant to paint the department in a bad light, but he had already agreed to tell the others what had happened and he wasn't about to lie.

"A very scared and very unprepared rookie," Mike said matter-of-factly, and both sergeants sat back quickly, stunned and surprised.

"A rookie?" Waters managed to get out.

Mike nodded.

"Dear god…" McCann breathed. "Jeez, I hope they threw the book at him…"

Mike looked across the table again and raised his chin. Steve, catching the cue, cleared his throat, saying quietly, "Like Mike said, he was a just a scared young kid who should never have been wearing the uniform… He was fired but, ah…" He paused and looked at his partner again, "but Mike didn't want him to be charged with anything…"

Into the silence that followed, Waters, shaking his head in wonder, offered, "Well, I don't know if I could be that… generous, Mike. But more power to you." He raised his coffee cup in a salute.

Chuckling, Mike raised his own cup and nodded once with a smile before taking a sip.

McCann looked at Steve. "God, that must've scared the hell out of you, having your partner shot right in front of you like that?"

Freezing slightly, Steve shot an almost guilty look at Mike before he slowly turned his head towards the PS sergeant. "Ah, no," he said quietly, "I, ah, I wasn't there…" As McCann frowned and glanced at Mike, who was staring at his young partner expressionlessly, he continued, "It was the day after the July 4th long weekend and I'd been up in Tahoe with my girlfriend… we had car trouble and I didn't get back to The City until late afternoon…" He looked up at Mike. "That's when I found out…"

Even the Palm Springs detectives could hear the contrition in his voice and almost immediately McCann regretted bringing the subject up.

Mike was staring at his partner with a gentle smile, well aware of the lingering remorse the younger man felt. He sat back suddenly, chuckling and the others turned to him with confused frowns. "I'm really doing okay," he said with a surprising lightness in his tone, "but I must admit, tackling that woman the other day was not one of my better moves." He put his right hand on his chest again but this time for effect. "I think I might be paying for it for the next little while."

Steve stared at him gratefully for a couple of beats before he smiled, picking up his rapidly cooling cup of coffee and taking a sip. Over the rim of the cup, he relayed his thanks with his eyes. Mike, grinning as he picked up his own cup again, nodded almost imperceptibly before taking a sip.

Shaking his head in wonder, Waters leaned back in his chair and snorted. He glanced at his watch. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm beat. It's been a long day and I have to get home." He glanced down at the file on the floor beside Steve's chair. "Charlie and I still have a lot to do to fill in all the blanks on our Misters Trammel and Goodman and get that information up to you guys… and you have a long drive ahead of you tomorrow, so if it's okay with everyone, I'll ask for the check."

There were nods of confirmation all around.

# # # # #

They had said their thanks and their goodbyes on the sidewalk in front of the motel, both San Francisco detectives watching as the Caprice drove out of sight. Silently, they entered the room, crossing to their respective beds.

Steve watched as Mike stopped at his bag and picked up his pajamas before heading to the bathroom. He could tell from the careful way the older man was moving that he was in more discomfort than he was letting on.

Steve slipped the file under his clothes at the bottom of his own flight bag and set out his wardrobe for the next day. He wanted to get an early start; the sooner he got Mike home the better for them both, he knew.

Mike opened the bathroom door, dropping his clothes on his bag before crossing to the bed and sitting down slowly. Yawning, he took off his watch and set it on the small nightstand between the beds then lay back against the pile of pillows, pulling the sheet up and closing his eyes.

Standing near the bathroom door, Steve had watched him with a worried frown. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly and Mike nodded, smiling without opening his eyes.

"I'm sore but it's nothing I can't handle…" he said with a soft chuckle. "I'll be okay…"

Nodding to himself skeptically and trying to smother his doubt-filled sigh, Steve slipped into the bathroom and gently closed the door. When he exited a few minutes later, Mike hadn't moved and he looked asleep.

After putting his clothes in his flight bag, he turned off the overhead light then sat on the side of bed, setting the alarm on his watch before putting it on the nightstand and turning off the lamp.

He lay back against the pillows, leaving the sheet at the foot of the bed. They had turned the air conditioning off before they'd left for dinner and the room wasn't as cool as it had been.

As much as he wanted to fall asleep though, he knew it would be difficult tonight. He stared up into the dark, snippets of the dinnertime conversation running over and over in his mind as they had continued to do since the words had been uttered. He didn't think he'd ever forget them.

Trying to clear his mind, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had just released it when he heard quietly, "Just so you know, I meant every word I said tonight…"

He froze, his throat constricting, suddenly unable to breathe. He could feel the tears spring instantly to his eyes and he opened his mouth, trying to draw in air as silently as he could. It took several seconds until he felt in control enough to respond. Struggling to keep his voice from trembling, he said softly, "I know…"

He heard Mike take a deep, relaxing breath and he smiled through his tears.

# # # # #

"So, ah, you never got the chance to talk to Charlie about the two of you being Marines, did you?"

Mike was leaning back comfortably in the front seat, his head back and the fedora down over his eyes. His hands, fingers laced, were lying across his stomach. He smiled with a soft chuckle. "No, we didn't, which'll give me a good excuse to come back. Besides, I want to take them up on their offer to show us all those celebrity homes…"

Steve took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot him a quick glance through the dark glasses. "You're kidding, right? When did you become such a… a fan?"

Mike guffawed. "I don't want to see the stars, Smiley, I want to see the houses… you know, 'see how the other half lives'…"

"Okay, so, ah, whose places do you want to see?"

"Me? That's easy… Bob Hope, Cary Grant and Frank Sinatra. He was my wife's favorite."

Steve nodded to himself. "Okay, that sounds pretty good. I wouldn't mind seeing their places too… but they're probably behind those high walls we kept seeing, right?"

The older man grunted, "Oh, yeah, you're probably right." He shrugged with a laugh. "Well, we can try anyway…"

"I heard Kirk Douglas has a home nearby… maybe we could run into him sometime," Steve chuckled, glancing over again.

"Oh, I liked him in 'Spartacus'," Mike replied with a chuckle then growled, feigning jealousy, "My wife really liked him too." The blue eyes slid towards him under the brim of the fedora. "You know, you look a little like him."

"I do?" Steve asked with a derisive snort.

"Yeah, you know, with that little cleft in your chin…" He gestured with his right forefinger, chuckling and smiling.

"Okay, whatever you say…" Steve laughed. They were about an hour out of Palm Springs, having gotten an early start. They'd hit the road without breakfast, hoping to stop somewhere along the highway in an hour or so. It was a beautiful, cloudless day and they expected to get back to The City just before the evening rush hour, though they would be going against the flow of traffic by that time anyway.

The younger man looked across the front seat and chuckled. "And then there's always Liberace," he mumbled mischievously and he saw Mike's entire body jiggle as he laughed quietly.

"Not my cup a tea, I'm afraid," the older man managed to get out, "but you go ahead, fill your boots."

Laughing, Steve eyes flicked to a small billboard on the side of the highway as they roared past. "Hey, uh, there's a Carl's Jr. up the road here about twenty miles. You want to stop there for breakfast?"

Mike sat up as quickly as he could, pushing his hat back. "Oooo, I ate there with Jeannie once when we were down in L.A. checking out the universities. I like their French toast dips."

"I'll take that as a yes," Steve chuckled, glancing across the front seat again. He was more than pleased they were finally on their way home, and even more relieved that Mike seemed to be doing so much better this morning.

There were obviously more dark clouds on his horizon, he knew, but for the moment, things seemed to finally be going in the right direction. But for how long, he didn't know, and that worried him more than he cared to consider.


	48. Chapter 48

Mike slowly opened the door, glancing back to wave at the LTD then watched as it pulled away from the curb and headed down the hill, its driver homeward bound. It was just after 4 pm and the sun was still high and bright in the cloudless sky. But, being San Francisco, the temperature was a lot more tolerable than the desert heat of Palm Springs.

Trying to take a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold, dropping the overnight bag to the floor near the stairs before turning to close the door and lock it. He stood stock still for several moments, hoping the pain in his chest would ease up somewhat. He had managed to swallow a couple of painkillers when they had stopped for breakfast and Steve had made a trip to the washroom. But the effect was now wearing off.

He carefully picked up the bag again and brought it into the kitchen, setting it on the table and unzipping it. The small plastic bottle was easy to find, tucked just under his pajamas. He'd put the pills in the bag instead of his more convenient jacket pocket because he didn't want the slightest possibility of Steve hearing them rattling around.

He popped the top and tapped two out into his left palm then poured himself a small glass of water. Washing them down, he set the glass back on the counter then, leaving the bag, walked back into the living room and sat in the recliner, closing his eyes and resting his right hand on his chest.

He'd hated not being honest with his partner but he didn't want to add to the burdens the young man was already carrying. He realized it had probably not been a wise decision to make the trip to Palm Springs in the first place, but in hindsight he also knew he was glad he did. If anything, he thought, it had brought them even closer together, something he had not thought possible.

After several long minutes, he could feel the burning ache in his chest starting to recede slightly and he was able to take deeper breaths. He held a breath then let it out slowly, smiling softly to himself. He had promised that he would stay home for a couple of days and take it easy, a promise he already knew he was not going to be able to keep.

# # # # #

There were no free parking spots on Union so he parked around the corner on Montgomery, growling to himself as he dragged his flight bag out of the back seat and locked the car. He had tossed his jacket over the cast; the last thing he wanted was some nosy neighbour seeing it and wanting to know what had happened. He wasn't in the mood for idle chitchat at the moment.

He had dropped Mike off with the promise that the older man would lie low for the next couple of days, which was encouraging to hear but not altogether believable. And though Mike seemed to be doing okay, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind that his partner hadn't been completely forthcoming about his health, especially in light of the incident at the Keyes' house.

He stepped wearily but thankfully into the brightly lit apartment; he'd left all the curtains open and the small living room was awash in sunlight. He loved this little place, he smiled to himself, so pleased when he'd found it years ago, still somewhat in awe that he'd snagged one of the premiere locations in the stunningly photogenic city.

He tossed the bag on the couch and went directly into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The shelves were pretty bare; two cartons of leftover Chinese food were sitting on the top shelf. They'd been there for six days now, and he wasn't sure if he should tempt fate by eating it or just throw it out.

Defering that decision for the moment, he grabbed a can of Bud and, continually grateful he still had the use of his left fingers, popped the tab and carried it back into the living room, dropping heavily onto the couch and taking a long draft.

His gaze drifted automatically to the answering machine; surprisingly there were no new messages. He didn't know how to feel about that; he had half-expected at least one contrite message from Mel. He wasn't sure what her silence meant, and that was troubling.

He dropped his head back onto the couch and took a deep breath, thinking back over the last few days in Palm Springs. They had learned a lot about John Alan Trammel and his illustrious, and distasteful, life and times. And they had a suspect in Matthew Goodman; now if only they could only find him.

He'd go into the office first thing in the morning, he thought, and, after explaining probably more than once, about the cast, he would bring Bill, Roy and everyone else up to speed on what they had uncovered in the southern California desert resort town. He had called in to the desk sergeant the night before and knew that the APB on Goodman's car would already be circulating with the morning shift. If they were really lucky, the Chevelle might even have been spotted today.

He took another gulp of the beer then put the can on the coffee table and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He looked at the cast and at the writing in black marker that now adorned it. Waters and McCann had signed it, but it was the words Mike had written that brought a smile to his lips: _Better this than your head, right?_

He had Mike to thank for that very thing, he thought.

He frowned, exhaling loudly. He knew that, because of the cast, Roy would probably not allow him to accompany Bill on any further street-based investigations in the Trammel case and he would have to do all his detective work from the safe confines of the office. He could live with that, he thought.

But he also knew that, as soon as he had finish his morning briefing, he was going to Potrero and check up on his partner in person; he knew Mike well enough to know that it would be harder for him to lie in person than it would over the phone.

He glanced at the phone, half-tempted to call the older man just to allay his growing fears. But Mike had seemed fine today, even climbing the steep stairs to the De Haro house with more alacrity than he had shown in days.

With a resigned sigh, he got up and straggled back into the kitchen. He took one of the cartons of Chinese food out of the fridge and set it on the counter then opened it and leaned closer to give it a whiff. He raised his head, frowning. He wasn't sure if smelled okay or not and he stood there in a quandary for a couple of seconds before he turned to the garbage can, stepped on the foot pedal and dropped the carton into its open maw.

He was not about to take the chance.

# # # # #

It was a good hour and a half later before Mike finally opened his eyes, taking another deep breath to try to gauge the intensity of the pain in his chest. It felt much better.

He got gingerly to his feet and walked slowly into the kitchen. He turned the knob on the oven then opened the freezer door and took out one of the frozen pot roast packets that Jeannie had left him.

It would be a couple of hours until it would be hot enough to eat, he knew, but there were things he could do while he waited. Not the least of which, he wanted to give his daughter a call; it had been days since he'd heard her voice and he needed it now more than ever.

He returned to the living room and carefully picked up his bag, carrying it upstairs.

As he put the dirty clothes in a pile on the floor, he smiled when he pulled the two new shirts out of the bag. He hadn't lied when he'd told McCann he liked them; he really did. They were welcome, and sorely needed, additions to his wardrobe.

Everything put away and the dirty clothes now in the laundry basket, he made his way back downstairs, picking up the phone and finding the San Diego phone number on the piece of paper beneath it. He sat in the recliner, putting the phone in his lap, and dialed, his face wreathed in a broad smile before Jeannie even picked up the receiver on the other end.

# # # # #

The sun was just starting to show signs of sinking into the ocean when Steve turned the corner onto Union, a brown paper bag in his right hand. He shifted it to the crook of his left arm, not wanting to put too much strain on his left wrist, as he fished for his house keys in his pants pocket.

With the Chinese food leftovers in the garbage and having no appetite for another pizza, he had wandered down Montgomery until he'd come to a Greek take-out. Unable to resist the smell, he was now chugging back home with a beef gyro and a small Greek salad.

As he let himself into the small apartment once again, he knew it was going to be a long night; there was a lot on his mind, not the least of which was the decision he had to make about the woman with whom he had hoped to share the rest of his life.

# # # # #

"What the hell happened to you?" Bill blurted out when Steve walked into the bullpen and, as expected, he felt every eye in the room snap in his direction. Peripherally he could see Devitt get up from behind Mike's desk and step out of the inner office towards him.

He crossed to his own desk and tossed the file down, smiling up at everyone as he did so. He held up the cast and shrugged. "It's a long story I'll tell you all some other time," he began to a chorus of groans, taking in Devitt with a nod and indicating the file, "but I've got a lot of good information about our Mr. Trammel." He looked at Tanner pointedly and the black detective grinned.

"I was hoping to hear that."

Steve smiled. "Listen, Bill, I'll go over everything with you in a few minutes… I just want to talk to Roy first. Okay?" The others had already dispersed; Tanner, glancing from Steve to Devitt and back, nodded confirmation.

"Sure… take your time." He turned to head back to his desk.

Steve looked at the captain and gestured towards the office with his chin. Nodding with a slight smile, Devitt turned and led the inspector into the inner room, closing the door after them both before crossing around the desk to Mike's chair. He gestured towards the cast before sitting.

"You want to fill me in on that?"

With a chuckle, Steve took his jacket off and dropped it over the back of the chair before sitting. He pointed at the outside of the cast just below his wrist. "Broke the ulna bone… I, ah, didn't get out of the way of a baseball bat as fast as I would've liked."

Cocking his head and frowning, Devitt sat back and folded his arms. "Tell me more," he instructed softly with a raised eyebrow.

With another chuckle, Steve leaned forward and shook his head. "Let's just say I was really lucky, and really, really happy Mike was with me…"

# # # # #

"Take a deep breath and hold it," Dr. Reynolds said again, gently pressing the diaphragm against the lower ribs on the right side of Mike's chest.

The detective tried to inhale and caught his breath with a sharp gasp. "I can't," he said through clenched teeth, shaking his head in frustration.

The physician straightened up, taking the tips of the stethoscope out of his ears and looking at his patient with a frown. Mike had already explained to him the details of the incident in Palm Springs, and to say that Dr. Reynolds was displeased would be a gross understatement. He exhaled loudly and pointedly.

"The lab on the first floor has a more accurate x-ray machine than I do. I'm going to send you down there right now. And I want you to promise me that if I find anything on the x-rays that I think needs to be dealt with in a hospital situation, that you will not contradict me and that you will present yourself there and stay until I tell you it is all right to leave.

"Do I make myself clear?"


	49. Chapter 49

"You're sure he's all right?" Devitt asked, leaning forward over the desk and resting on his forearms. His concern was evident.

"Yeah, yeah," Steve insisted, nodding, trying to project a confidence he really didn't feel. "It shook him up pretty good and he was in a bit of pain, but he snapped back. I made him promise not to leave his house for the next couple of days…" He raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "And we'll see if he keeps his word." He smiled wryly. "But I gotta tell ya, Roy, if he hadn't been there, it woulda been my head and not my arm so, ah…" He shrugged.

"Yeah… yeah…" the older man said slowly, looking down and taking a deep breath. "Well, I'm not going to bug him by phoning him… he'll think I'm just checking up on him, which of course is exactly what I'd be doing…"

"Yeah," Steve agreed with a chuckle. "I'm just curious to see how much he tells you when you finally ask him about Palm Springs." He glanced over his shoulder into the bullpen. "The, ah, the other guys don't know he went with me, do they?"

Devitt shook his head. "I haven't told them."

"Good," Steve agreed with a quick nod, "let's keep it that way for now. I don't think Mike'll let it slip when he gets back… but…" He shrugged.

"Yeah." Devitt raised his eyebrows. "Say, ah, why don't you bring Bill up to speed about what you found out in Palm Springs and then, if you're up to it, tell me and whoever you want to sub for you – 'cause you know I'm not letting you out on the streets with that thing on, right?" He pointed at the cast and Steve nodded reluctantly. "And then I think you should go home, okay?"

"Roy, I'm okay, really. I mean Mike and I put in a couple a pretty long and involved days down there, even after this," he raised the cast slightly, "and I'm fine, really. I'll go crazy sitting at home, and there's still a lot to do before we wrap this up that I can do from my desk. Okay?"

The captain stared at him for a couple of long seconds before he nodded sharply. All right… but I want you to take care of yourself and if you feel you need a break, you get yourself home, okay? I don't want both you and Mike out for any longer than necessary."

With an appreciative smile, Steve got to his feet. "Thanks, Roy." He opened the office door and stepped out into the bullpen, catching Tanner's eye. The black detective crossed to Steve's desk and dropped into the guest chair as Mike's partner took his jacket off and dropped it onto the back of his chair, chuckling. "You seem eager…"

Tanner shook his head with a frustrated sigh. "Are you kidding? The entire time you were gone I got nowhere… and I mean nowhere. We finally went through all those background checks on the hotel personnel – and that came up zilch – and Norm and Dan finished up with that stabbing case they inherited from you and Mike –"

"Oh yeah," Steve asked, glancing in the direction of Haseejian's empty desk. "Where are they?"

"They wrapped it yesterday and they took today off – they worked through the weekend."

"So who did it?"

Tanner shrugged, staring at the Goodman file on the desk. "I don't know, it wasn't my case. And besides, Norm was preening… you know how he does sometimes when he closes a case… annoying…" He sounded peeved but Steve knew he was joking.

Steve stared at him with a deadpan look and a heavy sigh then he chuckled. "All right, you ready to hear what I dug up down in Palm Springs?"

Grinning, Tanner nodded. "Yeah, but, ah…" He pointed at the cast. "After you tell me how you got that?"

Steve glanced at his left forearm. "Ah yes, this…" He bobbed his eyebrows quickly several times. "Actually, it's part of all this," he tapped the cast on the file, "so bear with me; I'll go in chronological order and when I get there, you'll know."

"Excellent," Tanner said with a broad smile. He glanced around almost surreptitiously. "Uh, you want to do this here or do you want to use one of the interview rooms?"

"I don't have anything to hide… do you?" he asked with a smile.

"Uh…no…"

"Then here'll be just fine." Chuckling, he opened the folder and took out some photos.

# # # # #

"So that's where we stand at the moment," Steve concluded. He was in one of the guest chairs in his partner's office, Tanner beside him. Devitt was sitting back in the desk chair, his arms crossed, and Inspector Lee Lessing was leaning against the filing cabinet near the window.

Steve had asked Bill Tanner who he wanted to work with on the Trammel case and the inspector had chosen Lessing, mainly because, he said, both Haseejian and Healey outranked him and he wanted to make sure he, and Steve, would get the credit for any subsequent arrests. It was a valid point.

Devitt nodded, leaning forward in the chair and resting his forearms on the edge of the desk. "Wow, that was a lot of work for such a short time. Congratulations."

"Well, the guys in Palm Springs were amazing. They dug up a lot of stuff on very short notice. And they are following up on a lot of other stuff too, of course, so we should be getting more from them soon."

"And now we have a full slate here as well," Tanner said quietly, leafing through the file that he had set in his lap. He glanced up at Lessing. "One of the first things I want to do is take that photo we have of the real Matthew Goodman and go back to the Carlton and to Pasquale's and see if any of the staff recognize him."

"That's a good idea," Steve nodded, glancing in Devitt's direction. "Listen, ah," he said hopefully, "that's, ah, that's nothing even remotely… dangerous… and I'd really like to, ah," he raised his right hand and winced comically, "keep a hand in, so to speak…"

The other three were looking at him quizzically; it was Lessing that reacted first, quickly covering his mouth with his hand and turning his laugh into a cough. Devitt shot a glance over his shoulder at the inspector before turning back to Steve, shaking his head and chuckling. He sighed heavily. "All right," he began, and Steve smiled in relief. "All right," Devitt repeated, holding up a forefinger for emphasis, "you take Bill with you and you only go to the Carlton and the pizzeria." He looked from one inspector to the other. "You hear me – just those two places and then you come straight back here."

Putting up both hands in mock surrender, Steve chuckled. "You got it, I promise." He shot a relieved grin in Tanner's direction then started to get to his feet.

"And after that this case goes to Lee, right?" Devitt instructed as his two inspectors started to leave the office.

"Of course," Tanner shot over his shoulder as they moved to their respective desks to get their jackets before almost jogging across of the bullpen. Steve wanted to get out fast before Devitt changed his mind.

# # # # #

Four hours later, Lessing looked up from his study of the Trammel file as his two dispirited colleagues sauntered slowly through the bullpen to their desks. He chuckled, putting the pen down and leaning back in his chair. "So, ah, am I take it that you guys were, ah… unsuccessful?"

Tanner shot him a withering look before taking off his jacket and dropping it on the back of his chair. "Nobody recognized him… not even a maybe…"

Steve had strolled right past his desk to the inner office and knocked lightly on the door. Devitt, on the phone, shot him a look and gestured towards the guest chair, not missing a beat in his conversation.

Steve sat with a weary but silent sigh, leaning the chair back and crossing his legs.

Devitt finished the call and hung up, looking at the younger man and smiling. "No luck, hunh?"

"Not even a nibble."

"Well, that's depressing," he commiserated then smiled. "So, ah, that's it for you, right? On the streets, I mean." He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a compliant response that was slower to come than he'd hoped.

The younger man leaned forward, the legs of the chair thudding heavily against the floor. "Listen, Roy –"

The older man raised both hands quickly. "I know what you're going to say… and I've been giving it a lot of thought." He gestured with his chin. "Shut the door, will ya?"

With a puzzled frown, Steve got up quickly and closed the door then sat again.

Devitt watched him silently then leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. "Okay, so this is what I'm going to do…" he began with a heavy and resigned sigh.

# # # # #

The traffic was heavy and it took him longer than normal to get from Bryant Street to Potrero Hill and then to find a parking spot. As he trudged up the steep street, he spotted Mike's personal car against the curb and smiled; at least the older man was keeping his promise and staying home, he reasoned.

Already slightly winded by the climb up the hill, he stood at the foot of the concrete steps of the familiar house, looking up with a heavy sigh. It always amazed him the effort it took to live in a lot of these areas in this visually stunning city; no wonder most San Franciscans were in such great shape.

Chuckling quietly, he hauled himself up the stairs with his right hand on the railing. The curtains in the bay window were closed, which was a good thing, he thought; it was a sign that hopefully Mike was taking his admonitions seriously and getting the rest he needed to recover faster. Both of them being out of the Homicide loop at the same time was more than a little disconcerting.

Finally getting to the landing, he raised his right fist to knock then thought better of it and fished the ring of keys out of his jacket pocket. He opened the heavy front door as quietly as he could and stepped into the living room, silently shutting the door behind him.

The house was dark and still. He stepped to the kitchen entrance and looked in; there were dirty dishes from last night's dinner on the counter, and the percolator was plugged in but turned off. He took a couple of steps deeper into the room; there was a dirty coffee cup in the sink but no other sign of breakfast or lunch dishes.

Frowning, he turned to head up the stairs as softly as he could. The master bedroom door was slightly ajar and he pushed it open. The room was lit only with the sunlight bleeding around the closed curtains.

Mike, dressed in khakis and one of his new Palm Springs shirts, was on his back on the bed, his right hand over the right side of his chest. He was fast asleep.

Steve stepped deeper into the room, his eyes falling on a small white pill bottle with a pharmacy label on the nightstand. He frowned, reaching for it; he knew Mike had been taking Tylenols. He wrapped his right hand around the bottle and lifted it carefully so the pills wouldn't rattle, and stepped back out into the hall, trying to find enough light to read the label. He finally ducked into the bathroom and turned on the overhead. It was a prescription for Demerol, and it had been issued that day by referring physician Dr. F. Reynolds.

Several things went through his mind at once, not the least of which were the facts that Mike had indeed left the house that day and that he had been in more pain for the past few days than he had let on.

With a worried frown, he slipped the pill bottle in his jacket pocked and returned to the bedroom. Mike hadn't moved. He stood there for several long seconds, debating what to do, then he turned and left the room again, leaving the door open.

He returned to the first floor, taking off his jacket and laying it over the arm of the couch, then went into the kitchen. He opened the freezer door, eyeing the neatly stacked Tupperware containers of Jeannie's prepared meals. He found two of the roast chicken and took them out, then turned the oven on.

He was determined that when Mike woke up, whenever that would be, there would be a delicious and nourishing meal, made by his daughter's loving hand, waiting for him.


	50. Chapter 50

He woke slowly, opening his eyes to the dark room. There was no sunlight peeking around the edges of the curtains so he knew he'd slept for longer than he'd anticipated. The constant ache in his chest had diminished considerably and he opened his mouth to take a careful deep breath, pleasantly surprised when the discomfort was minimal. He exhaled in relief.

He closed his mouth and took another deep breath through his nose, then started slightly, his eyes opening wider_. Is that roast chicken?_ he asked himself, frowning with a soft chuckle.

Very gingerly, trying not to aggravate the tenderness in his chest, he sat up and dropped his legs over the side of the bed. Taking and holding another deep breath, he put both hands on the bed and pushed himself to his feet, making sure he was stable before starting for the door.

Steve was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper. He looked up with a smile when his disheveled partner appeared in the entrance. Mike was frowning slightly and he raised his right hand to rub at his eyes. "What are you doing here? What time is it?"

"It's about 9:30… and I'm here because it seems you need me right now…"

Mike was looking around the kitchen slowly, as if getting his bearings. His right hand went to the back of his neck and he rubbed it, blinking. "Is that chicken I smell?"

Glancing at the stove, Steve nodded as he got to his feet and pulled the chair on the other side of the table out. "I took the liberty of reheating two of those frozen roast chicken dinners that Jeannie left for you. From what I could tell, you haven't eaten today…?" It was more a statement than a question and he emphasized it by pointing at the chair.

Meeting his young partner's stare evenly, Mike stepped closer to the table and sat carefully, trying not to hold his breath.

Steve watched him intently, softening his worry with a smile. "How bad is it?" he asked and Mike's head came up guiltily. Their eyes locked for a long second then the older man chuckled gently.

"You've known all along?"

Snorting softly, Steve's smile got a little wider and he leaned forward slightly, reaching out to cup the back of the older man's neck with his right hand as he shook his head. "Not really… I mean, I knew you were in pain but not this bad…" He squeezed Mike's neck gently and stared into his eyes. "How bad is it?" he asked again.

Mike managed a reassuring smile. "Not as bad as I thought, thank god… I've got torn cartilage between my lower ribs… the ones the bullet went between...?" He smiled ironically with a soft shrug. "Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch…"

"I bet." The younger man took his hand away slowly, returning to the other chair to sit again. "So you went to see your doctor this morning?" he asked quietly.

Swallowing heavily, Mike nodded, looking down. "I took a cab. He took me right away."

"You were having trouble breathing?"

Mike nodded again. "Yeah… He sent me for x-rays… and then he got me a prescription for painkillers…"

"Yeah, the Demerol… I saw it."

Mike raised his eyebrows and snorted. "They work, I tell ya…"

Steve chuckled softly. "Well, that's good. So, other than taking pain pills, what do you have to do to get better?"

The older man shrugged slightly. "There's nothing I can do… it's just gonna take time."

"How much time?"

Mike looked at him and sighed, discouraged. "They told me it could take as long as three months."

Steve tried to smile encouragingly. "Well, it could've been worse, couldn't it?"

Nodding with a fond grin, Mike chuckled softly. "You got that right." He closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of the moment to wash over him, feeling for the first time in days that things were going to eventually work themselves out.

Steve watched him silently for a couple of long seconds then leaned forward and tapped his partner on the knee. "Say, ah, you up for some dinner?"

"I'm starving," Mike laughed gently, opening his eyes.

Smiling in relief about so many things, Steve got up and crossed to the stove. "You just sit there, I can get everything. What do you want to drink?"

Mike chuckled. "Well, a beer is out of the question for the foreseeable future. I think I still have some milk left. I mean, you know, milk that hasn't gone bad…"

"I'll check," Steve laughed, reaching into the fridge and getting the carton out, trying to read the Best Before date. "Yeah, we're good," he said, putting it on the counter and getting two glasses out of the cupboard.

"You sure you can do everything with one hand?"

Nodding, Steve chuckled. "One and a half, actually, but yeah, I'm sure…" He held up the cast. "It's amazing how much you can do with this on. I'd be screwed if it was my right hand though," he laughed as he opened another cupboard and removed two plates.

Mike watched with an affectionate smile as the younger man poured the milk and set the table. "I should never have tackled her," he said softly with a wry chuckle after several long seconds of silence.

"Well, for purely selfish reasons, I'm glad you did," Steve laughed as he put an oven mitt on his right hand and opened the oven door with the other.

"You know, if I hadn't been with you, Pete or Charlie or both of them would've been; it could just as easily have been either one of them…" he reasoned with a derisive snort.

Steve shot him a look and a scowl. "But it wasn't, was it? It was you." He stared at the older man, as if daring him to argue.

Mike stared back almost defiantly for a long second, then he dropped his head with a resigned sigh. Smiling to himself, Steve leaned forward to reach into the oven.

"Here, let me get that," Mike began, starting to get to his feet but the younger man turned quickly with a scowl and he stopped, retreating to the chair and settling back down. "Okay, fine…" he mumbled under his breath.

It didn't take long for Steve to get both dinners on the table and they dug in with gusto. Mike closed his eyes after putting the first piece of roast chicken into his mouth and moaned with pleasure. "My god my daughter can cook…" he chuckled, grinning after he had chewed and swallowed.

"She sure can," his partner agreed with a laugh.

"So, what happened in the office today?"

Steve raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as he stabbed a roast potato with his fork. "Well, Roy wanted to bench me but… well, he sorta changed his mind."

Mike's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Changed his mind? What do you mean?"

"He told me this morning that he didn't want me out on the streets with the cast, but he allowed me to go with Bill this afternoon to see if anyone at the Carlton or Pasquale's recognized that picture of Matthew Goodman that we brought back with us…"

"Did anybody?" Mike asked hopefully.

Steve shook his head as he forked the piece of potato into his mouth. "Not a soul." He smiled briefly when he heard the older man's quick disappointed growl. "But, when I got back to the office, he had a proposition for me."

"Do tell?" Mike prompted with an intrigued smile.

Steve stopped cutting the chicken and met the older man's eyes with a twinkle in his own. "He's going to let me oversee everything about the investigation… all decisions will be mine, even including who goes out to do what…"

Mike had stopped moving and was staring back. "My job, you mean," he stated flatly.

His smile suddenly disappearing, Steve swallowed heavily and cleared his throat. "Well, um, just, you know, temporarily… until you can get back… you know…"

Without expression, Mike looked down at his plate and stabbed a piece of carrot with his fork. "I always knew you were after my job," he said quietly, and he could feel Steve staring at the top of his head. He managed to keep his composure for a few very long seconds before he started to laugh, looking up mischievously. "I'm just saying…" he chuckled with a shrug.

"Any way to the top, Lieutenant, _any _way…" Steve chortled evilly, picking up his glass of milk and making a silent toast.

"You sound like a James Bond villain," Mike laughed, shaking his head and attacking his dinner again. "So, ah, what's your first move? Anything on the car yet?"

Continuing to chuckle, Steve swallowed and shook his head. "Not a thing, and that's starting to bug me. I mean, like Waters said, how can you miss a cherry red Chevelle. It's gotta be somewhere, right?"

Mike shrugged. "Maybe it's not in The City. If I was you, I'd expand the search area."

Steve stared at him for a couple of seconds. "Expand to where?"

"Marin, Oakland, Berkeley, even go south… it's worth a shot."

Steve thought about it for a split second then nodded. "Good point. I'll do that first thing in the morning." He watched the older man cutting his food for a couple of seconds. "What else would you do… in my position…?" he asked casually, staring down at his plate.

Mike looked up, a slight smile playing over his lips. "What would _I_ do?" Steve nodded cavalierly, feigning nonchalance. "Well, I would start really looking for that dumped wife of his…"

Steve stopped cutting the chicken breast and looked up. "You would?"

"I would."

Frowning, the younger man stopped eating. "Why?"

Mike sat back slightly, putting his knife and fork down and picking up the glass of milk. "Because I've been thinking about her more and more since we found out about her from Pete and Charlie. I think she has more to do with all this than we think."

"Why do you think that?"

Mike's stare had unfocused and for a moment he seemed very far away. He shook his head slightly. "I don't know… a gut feeling…?" His stare refocused on his partner and he shrugged. "I don't know… but if I was you, I'd try to find her…"

They held each other's eyes for a long second then Steve bobbled his head vaguely and returned to his meal. "Yeah…" he said slowly, "yeah, I'll do that…" He looked at Mike from the corner of his eye and smiled.

# # # # #

"You gonna be okay here by yourself tonight?" Steve asked again as he headed for the door. It was just past 11 and he had helped Mike with the washing up after their very delicious and, for once, healthy dinner.

Mike chuckled appreciatively. "I'll be great, don't worry about me. How are you doing?"

"Me? I'm fine. Especially now that I have a job to do instead of just sitting around waiting for this," he raised the cast slightly, "to heal." He opened the front door then turned back. "Oh, ah, and don't think you're just going to be sitting around here doing nothing while your ribs heal either… I'm gonna be picking your brain, Lieutenant, so don't get too complacent there, okay?"

Mike smiled at him affectionately and dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Okay."

Laughing, Steve winked. "Have a good night… and, ah… take it easy with those Demerol, okay? I hear they can be a little… addictive…"

Mike put his hand on the open door. "I'll only take 'em when I need 'em, I promise. Get a good night's sleep and call me tomorrow."

"I will," Steve said as he stepped out onto the landing and started down the stairs.

"Hey, ah," Mike called after him, chuckling, "thanks for cooking dinner!"

Steve waved over his shoulder as he continued down the stairs. "It was nothing, really… don't mention it!"

The sound of Mike's laughter followed him almost all the way to his car.

# # # # #

"So, Lee, I want to go a different way with this investigation and I think you're the man for the job," Steve said with a smile as the young assistant inspector dropped down into his guest chair.

"Okay," Lessing said slowly, frowning. "And what way is that?" He had spent the better part of yesterday, after the group briefing, poring over the Trammel file and he felt he was almost as well versed on the case as Tanner.

"Well, Mike had an interesting take on things –"

"You're keeping him in the loop?" Lessing interrupted, confused. The last he'd heard, the lieutenant was still at home recuperating from the nearly fatal shooting and wasn't involved in the Trammel investigation at all.

Mentally kicking himself for almost spilling the beans on his partner, Steve managed a casual smile. "Yeah, uh, I went over to his place last night after I left here and had dinner with him. Brought him up to speed."

"How's he doing?"

"Better. A lot better, thanks. I'll tell him you were asking."

"Thanks, and, ah, tell him we want him back as soon as he can, okay? I mean, Roy is great but he's not Mike, right?"

"Right. Anyway, Mike thinks we should give Goodman's wife a good close look."

"She's the one that left him for Trammel, right? And then Trammel left her?"

"That's the one. No one seems to know where she is and I'd like to track her down."

"I'll get right on that. She could be using her maiden name. I'll get ahold of DMV and the credit card companies to start, see if they can give me anything…"

"Good. I'll do some calling around too and see –"

"Steve!" Tanner called from his desk across the room and Steve and Lessing looked up. Tanner had his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone receiver and was holding it up. "Oakland PD. They think they have Goodman's car!"


	51. Chapter 51

**This story has seemed to take on a life of its own and will become the longest**

**I've ever written. For those of you who are hanging in there, many thanks. I hope I**

**haven't lost too many readers along the way because the the sheer length of it. And**

**I can't guarantee how long it's going to continue!**

Steve glanced at Lessing with raised eyebrows. "So soon?" He had only sent the APB's out a little over an hour ago. He looked at Tanner and nodded. "Get the details and tell them we'll be over there as soon as we can." He started to get to his feet. "So you'll follow up on Goodman's wife, right?"

Lessing nodded. "You got it. Good luck in Oakland," he chuckled and his temporary boss shot him a look. They both knew he meant that two ways – with the car, and with getting out of town in one piece. Oakland was experiencing a surge in violence related to the burgeoning drug trade and was now considered one of the most violent cities in the country.

# # # # #

With Tanner behind the wheel of the moss green Galaxie, they made good time getting over the Bay Bridge but it took a little longer to jump on the 880 south towards San Leandro and the private property impound yard.

Steve was going over Tanner's notes again. "So they had it in impound this entire time?"

The black detective chuckled as they flew past the cars in the slower lanes. "Yeah, the sergeant over here said as soon as they got the APB this morning they knew exactly what car we were talking about."

"And he didn't say why…?" Steve asked with confused frown.

Tanner shook his head. "He said he'd explain it all when we got here. But he seemed to find it quite amusing…" He glanced across the front seat and shrugged.

Looking out the side window, Steve exhaled loudly. "Well, he's one for one…"

"Who?"

Smiling and shaking his head, Steve closed the notebook. "Mike. He said to expand the search area for the car…" He chuckled dryly. "If he turns out to be right about Goodman's wife, I'll never hear the end of it…"

# # # # #

There was a small parking lot beside the corrugated metal building in front of the large parking lot, which was surrounded by a 10-foot-high chain link fence topped with barbed wire. It was an intimidating sight.

As they got out of the Galaxie, a uniformed sergeant walked towards them. He extended his right hand. "Inspector Tanner…?" he asked tentatively, his eyes snapping from one SFPD detective to the other.

Tanner put his hand out. "That's me," he said with a smile, grabbing the sergeant's hand and shaking it vigorously. He pointed to his colleague. "This is Inspector Keller… he's in charge of this investigation…"

Nodding genially, the Oakland officer looked at Steve, shaking his hand. "Inspector Keller…"

"Call me Steve, please," he said with a smile.

"Steve?" the sergeant echoed to a nod. "Daryl. Daryl Brown."

"Nice to meet you, Daryl."

Tanner brought his right hand up to his chest. "Bill."

Brown pointed at first one then the other. "Bill… and Steve. Got it," he said with a quick laugh. He turned and started to lead them towards the large chain link gates, which were already open. "I bet you're wondering how we identified it so quick, hunh?" he chuckled.

Both homicide detectives nodded.

"Well, we didn't have to I.D. it from the VIN number – but that matches, by the way, we confirmed that already. No, we knew which car it was 'cause the patrolman that ticketed and impounded it, wants it."

Steve shook his head with a baffled chuckle. "Ah, what…?"

They were walking between two long rows of impounded cars of all makes and models, some spotlessly clean, others covered with thick layers of dust and grime.

Brown shook his head again, laughing. "Well, seems this car was on the street for a while before it was brought in here. There were three parking tickets on it before it got towed. The patrolman that kept ticketing it had his eye on it… and if nobody comes to claim it within the next coupla weeks, well, it'll go up for auction. And that patrolman is bound and determined it's gonna be his."

"Well, more power to him, but he's gonna have to wait till we're finished with it," Tanner chuckled. "And even then… who knows?" he shrugged.

"He'll be devastated…" Brown said with a wry chuckle.

They were almost at the end of the row and the SFPD cops had yet to spot the cherry red Chevelle. Brown stopped and turned towards them. "Gentlemen…" he said amiably then looked from one to the other, as if waiting for a response. Both Steve and Tanner looked around, confused.

"Where's the car…?" Tanner asked tentatively.

Starting slightly, Brown gestured over his shoulder. "Right there," he said with a baffled frown.

They looked past Brown; it was a Chevelle all right, but it was dark blue. Steve looked at Brown again. "You said the VIN number matches?"

"Umh-humh, perfect match. It's been painted."

Both detectives looked at the car again, approaching it slowly.

"It's a pretty good job, actually," Brown continued. "But it's not perfect. You can see the red underneath in a couple of places."

"Son-of-a-bitch," Tanner said under his breath as he took out his handkerchief and opened the passenger side door. Steve did the same on the driver's side. They both leaned in to get a closer look at the interior without touching any part of the car. "See anything?"

"If you mean blood, no," Steve answered, "but if you mean the garbage on the floor that might tell us something, yes…" He straightened up and closed the door; Tanner did the same. They both returned to where Brown was standing.

"Daryl, we'd like to have this towed back to San Francisco. Can you help us -?"

"The paperwork is being filled out as we speak," Brown interrupted with a grin. "I started it as soon as I hung up with you, Bill. It's gonna take a little while to get it here though, I'm afraid." He shrugged. "But there's a little diner down the street with some damn fine coffee. Can I tempt you boys?" He looked from one to the other with a genial grin.

"Anything has got to be better than that swill that Norm makes," Tanner said with a shudder. "It's on me. Lead the way, Daryl," he chuckled, gesturing down the row of cars.

Laughing, the OPD sergeant fell into step between them, glancing at Steve with a curious frown. "He's joking, right?"

"About the coffee?" Steve asked with a chuckle. When Brown nodded, he shook his head. The sergeant's deep laugh echoed through the cavernous impound yard.

# # # # #

They were following the tow truck back up the 880 towards the Bay Bridge. Steve was going over the paperwork in his lap. "So the car was parked for over two weeks before it was towed, and got three tickets in that time. The first one was issued on June 29th – three days after Trammel's murder. Which begs the question - how long was it there before it got that first ticket? One day…? Two days…?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice to know but I doubt that'll happen…" Tanner chuckled, keeping his eyes on the bouncing front end of the Chevelle several yards in front of them. "There's a ton of questions about that car that I doubt'll be answered anytime soon. Like who dumped it, when and where did it get painted, where did whoever dumped it go…?"

"And that's just for starters…" Steve signed with a snort. "And it being over here opens up a whole other can of worms about where Goodman went after he killed Trammel. I mean, we thought he stayed in The City, right? But what if he came over here to lay low? Is he still here or did he dump the car here and go back to The City… or somewhere else? Is he even still in California?"

Tanner glanced across the front seat and chuckled. "I'm glad there's three of us on this now."

"Yeah…," Steve said quietly, looking out the side window as the skyline of Oakland sped by. "Yeah… you know, maybe I can get us another body on this… well, a head, at least… a head with a good brain and a telephone…"

"You mean Mike, right?" Tanner laughed.

"Yeah… he's going nuts not being a part of this… and there's nothing wrong with his head or his mind…" He looked across the front seat and nodded to himself. "Yeah… I'll run it by Roy and Rudy, but I think that's exactly what I'm going to do."

# # # # #

"So, look, ah, he's listening to what his doctor told him to do and he's promised me he's going to stay home… and I believe him this time," Steve said with a low chuckle, dropping his gaze momentarily, "but he's going to go nuts if it takes as long as they're saying for him to be well enough to be cleared to come back to work.

"And we're swamped, the three of us… finding that car in Oakland this morning just opens up so many more angles we've got to cover now. So many more avenues we gotta go down if we're ever gonna get to the bottom of this. So, bottom line, I'd like to give Mike at least one line of inquiry I would like explored and which can be completely done over the phone. Absolutely no need for him to step foot outside his house, I swear." He finished with a hopeful smile, meeting the impassive stares of Captains Rudy Olsen and Roy Devitt evenly.

They were in Olsen's fifth floor office, he in one of the plush leather guest chairs and Devitt standing behind the desk near the window. Olsen leaned back in his large swivel chair and looked up, meeting Devitt's passive stare for a beat before focusing back on the young homicide inspector. "And you really need the extra manpower?"

Steve nodded. "We do, Rudy. You know how understaffed we are even in normal times and now, with Mike out for god knows how long, we're really underwater. Roy knows that better than anybody, am I right?" He's intense stare bored into the thin grey-haired captain, who nodded in assent.

"He's right, Rudy. They've been swamped for awhile now and a lot of the guys need a break. And this case is turning out to be a real ball-breaker, especially with the victim being so bloody… unlikable," Devitt added with a frustrated chuckle. "Besides, we don't want all that good work Steve did down in Palm Springs to be for nothing, do we? And if he thinks Mike can help, well, more power to him."

Olsen's frown travelled from Devitt down to Steve again and he grumbled. "Well, as long as he promises not to leave his house, I don't see why you can't use his… his _skill_ with a telephone."

Steve flashed a quick grin at Devitt as he got to his feet and turned to the door. "Thanks, Rudy."

"And tell him I told you that I'd better not hear of him leaving the house to do any work on this case under any circumstances, do you hear, or he'll be riding a desk a lot longer than he thinks," Olsen's gravelly voice followed as Steve slipped out the door into the corridor, Devitt close on his heels.

Smiling, Steve glanced over at the older man as they started for the stairs. "Thanks, Roy."

"No problem, but for god's sake, make sure neither you or Mike slips up and mentions him being with you in Palm Springs or all our asses'll be in a sling."

# # # # #

"I thought you were gonna call?" Mike said with pleased surprise when he opened the door to find his partner standing on the stoop.

"I was," Steve shrugged as he stepped over the threshold into the bright living room, the early evening sun streaming in through the bay window, "but a lot happened today and I thought it would be easier explaining it all in person."

"That sounds interesting," the older man chuckled as he shut the door. "I was just about to make myself some spaghetti. You hungry?"

"Sure. Sounds great."

Mike led the way into the kitchen. "You want a beer?"

"Yeah, thanks." He dropped into one of the chairs, trying to mask a yawn. He closed his eyes. It really had been a long day and he hadn't slept particularly well. Now that he was back in The City, he could no longer completely avoid what he was coming to regard as a sword of Damocles hanging over his head. Staying busy made it harder to find the time to dwell and, though he knew what his decision would ultimately be, he was reluctant to finally address it.

Mike set the open can of Bud on the table with a soft thud. Steve's eyes snapped open and he chuckled self-consciously. "Sorry… busy day…"

"You don't need to apologize," the other man said gently. "So, you made some progress today?"

Smiling, Steve picked up the beer and took a sip, then leaned back in the chair as Mike crossed to the stove. "You could say that." He cleared his throat softly. "We, ah, we found the car… and we added another member to my team."


	52. Chapter 52

Mike had turned on the faucet to fill a large pot with water. He turned it off, shaking his head. "Sorry, couldn't hear you… What?"

Smiling, Steve chuckled. "I said, we found the car."

Mike's eyes widened. "You did? Where?"

"In, ah, in Oakland…"

Still holding the pot under the tap, the older man stared at him for a couple of long seconds before the smug grin started to build. "In Oakland, you say…?" he asked innocently.

Firmly planting his tongue in his cheek, Steve tried not to smile as he nodded slowly. "Yeah… in Oakland…"

"Hunh," Mike shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he set the pot in the sink and turned the tap on again. "Well, that's a coincidence, isn't it? I mean, I just mentioned that last night…" He waited till the pot was full then turned the tap off again. He glanced at his partner with a smirk then reached for the pot.

Steve leapt to his feet. "Here, let me get that," he said quickly, not wanting Mike to lift the now heavy pot of water.

The older man shot him a look and he froze. "You're no more up for this than I am at the moment," he said, glaring pointedly at the cast. "Wait, I've got a better idea." He tipped the pot and began to pour the water down the drain. When it was almost empty, he picked the pot up again and put it on the large burner on the stove, then opened an upper cupboard door and got a large plastic measuring cup out. With a smug glance over his shoulder at the younger man, he filled the measuring cup to the halfway mark then poured the water into the pot.

Laughing, Steve sat back down.

As he continued to fill the pot, Mike said over his shoulder, "You were telling me about the car… that they found in Oakland," he chuckled, emphasizing the last few words.

With a loud harrumph, Steve picked up his beer again. "Yeah, ah, turns out it'd been over there since just after the murder. I'll give you all the details later but it'd been in impound over there for a couple of weeks… and it's been painted."

Mike turned away from the stove, where he had been transferring the sauce from a Tupperware container to a small pot. "Painted?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, dark blue. It's not a bad job but it's not a professional job either."

"So you're getting in touch with body shops that specialize in paint jobs?"

"Yeah, we're working on that – but it coulda been done here or over there, so that's a lot of places to contact."

"Yeah, and you gotta find out about garages that rent out space for spray painting cars as well, right?"

"We're working on that too, but that's a hell of a lot of places to cover… Then there are all the places that sell car paint…" He cleared his throat. "Which brings me to my second point…"

Mike glanced at him again. "Oh yeah, what's that?"

Steve smiled. "Well, I, ah, I talked to Rudy and Roy this afternoon, after Bill and I got back from Oakland with the car… and, ah, and I asked them if I could have another investigator on this case, now that we have all these new areas we have to cover… and they agreed…"

Mike's brow had started to furrow; he knew Homicide was woefully understaffed and he was instantly concerned that this new development would leave the other open cases short-handed. "So, what? Are they bringing in someone from another division?"

Chuckling, Steve shook his head. "Not exactly… it's you."

Mike had lifted the lid off the pot and was about to stir the sauce when he froze. "What do you mean me?"

Steve leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his beer in his hand. "I mean, you've been cleared by Rudy and Roy to help us out on this case… from here… by making the calls that we don't really have the time to make…" He waited for a long beat, trying to read his partner's reaction, then sat back slowly. "I told them I'd make you promise that you'd never leave the house on police business… and that the only thing you'd be doing is making phone calls…" He shrugged and raised his eyebrows. "We could really use your help."

Mike's expression didn't change but he swallowed heavily. "And they agreed?" he asked slowly, his voice low and steady.

Smiling, Steve nodded.

Very deliberately, Mike's attention returned to the stove and he reached out to turn up the heat before he started to slowly stir the sauce. A smile gradually lit his features. He cleared his throat. "I'd, ah… I really like that idea…" he said softly.

Chuckling, Steve put his beer on the table. "I thought you would."

Mike looked at him affectionately, his eyes bright. "So, ah, so what do you need me to do?" he asked, suddenly animated, and the younger man laughed.

Getting up, Steve started out of the kitchen. "I'll bring you up to speed over dinner. I'm gonna go wash my hands and then I'll help you set the table." He disappeared into the living room.

Mike watched him go, grinning.

# # # # #

Steve pushed the plate away and sat back. "Whoo, I'm stuffed." He smiled. "Thanks, that really hit the spot."

Mike put his fork and spoon on the plate then wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on the table. "You're welcome." He nodded towards the living room. "Let's move so we can spread this stuff out."

"Sounds like a plan," Steve nodded, getting to his feet and picking up the pile of papers he had set on one corner of the table.

"You want some coffee?"

"Ah, yeah, sure… I could use a cup – but just one, okay? Gotta get some sleep tonight…"

"Okay, just one," Mike chuckled as he got up and crossed to the counter, picking up the percolator as the younger man left the kitchen. As he filled it with ground coffee and water, he thought about what his partner had just mentioned about not sleeping.

The Goodman case wasn't important, or personal, enough for anyone to lose sleep over, so that left only one other reason that he could discern. And he was pretty sure that Steve hadn't dealt with 'the Mel situation' yet. The young man hadn't said anything after that slightly strained morning in this very room almost a week ago, and not a word about it had been exchanged the entire time they'd been together in Palm Springs.

As he plugged the percolator into the outlet above the counter, he sighed heavily. He hoped that Steve would deal with it soon, one way or another. The lecture that he'd given a previous girlfriend, Connie Moore, around two years ago, about putting monkey wrenches in the young man's head, began to rattle around in his mind once again.

He looked towards the living room, thinking. If his partner wasn't going to address this situation soon, he may have to have a little talk with him. He needed Steve to be at the top of his game, always, and he would accept nothing less.

He opened an upper cupboard and took two mugs out, setting them on the counter then, with a smile, walked into the living room.

Steve was sitting on the couch, the papers laid out on the coffee table in front of him. As Mike came into the room, he nodded towards the empty seat beside himself and the older man sat slowly and carefully.

"So," the younger man began, picking up one of the papers, "like I was saying, we've managed to compile a list of all the car paint shops here, in Oakland and in Berkeley. The ones with the ticks beside them have already been contacted. I need you to call the rest, okay?"

Mike took the paper. "Okay, you got it."

Steve picked up another page. "This the _bona fides_, so to speak, on the car so you know what you're talking about…" He handed that paper over as well.

"Good, good. Say, ah, I think I might just make that sweep a little broader, what do you say? Maybe all the way down to Fremont… Up to Richmond…"

Steve nodded. "Wouldn't be a bad idea…"

"I'll make some calls about garages that have, I don't know, self-painting facilities, or whatever that's called… I'll find out. If it wasn't a professional job – and nobody seems to think it was, right? – then whoever dumped it probably did it themselves. I'll call all the places that sell automotive paint as well, including all the dealerships. And don't forget, Goodman worked in the auto parts department of that hardware store chain. He might've picked up that kinda info on the job, right? I'll check into that too."

Steve had pulled back slightly and was staring at his partner's profile as the older man talked. His attention still focused on the papers in front of them, Mike fell silent, not noticing the green eyes boring into the side of his head. He glanced over quickly then did a double take. His brow furrowed. "What?"

"You do realize just how much work you've created for yourself, right?"

Mike looked down at the papers again then started to laugh. "Well, if you're going to do something, do it right –"

"Or don't do it at all," they finished together, chuckling.

Shaking his head, Steve asked, "You sure you're up to this?"

"Are you kidding? All I really need is this," he said with grin, holding up his right index finger and pretending to dial, "and this," he put the same finger against his right temple, "and they're both working perfectly."

Chuckling, Steve slapped the older man on the back.

Mike took a deep but careful breath, trying to concentrate on the papers again. "So the car was left in the Fitchburg district, hunh? That's an industrial area, isn't it? Warehouses and stuff…?"

"Yeah."

"Do they think whoever dumped it knew that it wouldn't be found for awhile if it was left there? I mean, do they think that it was left there deliberately?"

"Yeah, they do."

Mike thought about this for a second. "Do we know if Goodman has any ties to Oakland? Anyone he knows lives there?" Steve was shaking his head. "Remember Pete and Charlie telling us they didn't find an address book or anything like that at Goodman's place? Well, he could've taken it with him. I'll call them tomorrow and see if they've come up with anything else… especially anything with an East Bay connection."

"That's a good idea. So I've got Lee working on trying to find his wife. He's using both her married name and maiden name, and he's going to contact all the hotels here to see if she's anywhere in town. We've also got her bank flagged – she doesn't have a credit card so she's probably using cash, and they said they'd notify us if she tries to take money out of their joint account."

"That's if she's still alive," Mike added quietly.

Steve looked at him with a frown. "What? You changed your mind from last night?"

"No no no, not at all, but we have to consider every angle, right? I'm just throwing that out there."

"Understood." The younger man exhaled loudly. "The lab is going over the car right now, and Charlie said they should be finished by sometime late tomorrow morning. So we'll see what that tells us. Sergeant Brown over in Oakland is going to canvas the block where the Chevelle was found to see if anyone saw someone around it when it was dumped, but that's a longshot." Mike was nodding, his eyes still on the papers in front of him. Steve could tell he was anxious to get started. He smiled. "Uh, you know you can't start making calls until tomorrow morning, right?"

The older man turned to him with a confused frown. "What?" He stared at his partner's bemused, eyebrows raised expression for a long silent second then he smirked. "Very funny…"

Steve chuckled. "Just saying…" he said softly under his breath as he slapped Mike on the back again then sniffed the air. "I think the coffee's ready." As the older man started to get to his feet, he waved him back down. "You stay here and… study," he chuckled. "I'll get it. You want one?"

"Yeah, sure…" Mike mumbled as Steve disappeared into the kitchen, continuing to peruse the papers on the table in front of him, formulating a plan of attack. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a relieved smile lighting his face. He had been dreading not being able to do what he loved to do for what could be weeks, dreading the thought that life in Homicide would go on without him and that he could be so easily replaced.

And he also knew that the older he got, the harder and harder it was going to become to prove that he could still cut it on the streets, that he wasn't too old to make a difference where it really counted.

He could hear his young partner in the kitchen, and he smiled warmly. Steve understood, he knew, and that was what was keeping him going. The words on the paper in front of him blurred, and he blinked quickly to clear his vision.


	53. Chapter 53

"So, listen, why don't you swing around here again tomorrow night for dinner… I'll whip something up for us…"

Steve was standing at the open front door, getting ready to leave. "Mike, don't think you have to have me over every night, you know –"

"Are you going to have time to cook a decent meal for yourself with all this work you're doing, now that you're heading up this investigation?" the older man interrupted with a pragmatic frown.

Steve stared unblinking for a couple of long seconds then reluctantly bobbled his head. "Well, no…" he admitted softly.

Mike nodded. "Then it's settled. As long as you're the lead on the Goodman case, and as long as I'm housebound, you'll finish your days by coming over here for dinner and we can hash over – well, figuratively speaking, of course, I won't be cooking hash - what happened during the day and compare notes." He grinned goofily, continuing to nod.

After another silent second, the younger man dropped his head and started to laugh. "All right, all right, I surrender, you win…" He shook his head as he took a step out onto the landing. "Listen, uh, is there anything you need?"

"Actually," Mike said with an almost embarrassed facial shrug, "I'm gonna be needing some groceries… you know, the perishable stuff...?"

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, sure, I can get you some."

"Great. Hey, uh, could you wait for a couple of minutes while I make a list and get you some money?" Without waiting for a reply, Mike turned and almost jogged back into the kitchen.

With another chuckle and shake of his head, Steve stepped back into the house and closed the door.

# # # # #

"That was one filthy car inside," Bernie greeted Steve and Tanner when they walked into the crime lab. He was sitting on a tall stool at the far end of the large black granite counter in the centre of the expansive room. "That's no way to treat a nice automobile like that one."

"I agree," Tanner concurred with a laugh. "But, ah, anything in that filth of interest?"

The lab chief chuckled as he reached for a file folder on the counter, picked it up and tossed it closer to both cops. "Well, that depends where your interests lie, doesn't it?"

Frowning with a bemused smile, Steve slid the folder closer and opened it, his trained eye quickly taking in all the relevant information. "You found 16 sets of prints?"

"Umh-humh. I would consider that number a little high, unless, of course, it was used as a taxi or a rental, but I doubt very much this one was."

"Where were they found?"

"Mostly on the driver's side door. Five sets were found on the passenger side door. Three on the steering wheel. And one set was only found on the outside of the trunk, which is slightly odd."

Both Steve and Tanner frowned, puzzled.

"Any found inside the trunk?" Tanner asked.

"You mean as if someone was locked in the trunk and tried to get out?"

Both cops nodded.

Charlie shook his head. "Nope, sorry, nothing."

Nodding, Steve looked down at the report again. "So what else did you find in the car?"

"Well, nothing as exciting as a gun or a shell casing or blood, I'm afraid, but a number of store and restaurant receipts and even two parking garage receipts. They're in those evidence bags over there." Bernie pointed to a stack of small plastic bags on the far end of the counter. "There was a bunch of fast food wrappers and drink cans – they're in that bag on the floor over there but I don't think there's anything of interest in it. But you can go through it if you want."

Steve and Tanner looked at each other and shook their heads simultaneously. "No, we'll pass," Steve confirmed.

"Then that's it, I'm afraid. Other than, yes, it's been painted recently. It's a decent job, as you know, but not professional, so that might be hard to track down. We think the color is Fathom Blue but that's just an educated guess."

"An educated guess?" Tanner echoed, and the black lab chief nodded with a deep chuckle.

"Anyway, the fingerprint cards are in the file… they're all yours. Good luck, gentlemen," he said dismissively, getting to his feet and moving deeper into the bowels of the lab.

# # # # #

With a frustrated sigh, Mike leaned over the coffee table and put another tick beside a name on the list in front of him. Running his right index finger down the page to another name and number, he picked up the black receiver, put it to his left ear and dialed. Just as the line connected, there was a sharp knock on the front door. His head snapped in that direction and he grunted.

The line was busy and he slammed the receiver down in irritation, getting slowly to his feet, his right hand bracing his injured ribs and trying not to wince as another heavy knock rattled the door. "Coming!" he bellowed as he got to the door, turned the lock and yanked it open.

Inspector Lee Lessing, sporting a wide grin and two large paper bags, was standing on the stoop, panting slightly. He took a breath before gasping, "Special delivery, Lieutenant," holding up one of the bags.

Frowning, Mike looked from the inspector to the bag. "What's in there?"

Lessing eyebrows went up. "Your groceries."

"My groceries? What do you mean my –?"

"Steve asked me to deliver them," he interrupted smoothly, with a wide grin. "He, ah, he gave me your shopping list and asked – well, told me to pick up everything on the list and bring them to your place. So… here I am…" He was chuckling genially.

Mike was looking at the younger man with an almost bemused frown. "Steve _asked _you…?"

Lessing made a face somewhere between a shrug and a wince. "Well, more like ordered… but nicely. I mean, after all, he is my boss, sorta, now, for the time being… and he did it very nicely, I have to admit…"

With a brief headshake and tiny shrug of acceptance, Mike smiled and reached for the paper bag Lessing was holding up. The inspector pulled it back. "Ah ah ah," he tutted quickly, "I was also specifically told that you were not to lift any of the heavy bags whatsoever. So, Lieutenant, sir," he chuckled, "if you'd please take a step back so I can get in, I'll take both bags to the kitchen and then they're all yours."

Chuckling softly, Mike did as he was told, and Lessing, both bags in hand, stepped over the threshold into the house.

# # # # #

"Okay, so the prints are being processed," Tanner said as he crossed the bullpen and dropped into the guest chair. "Anything in those receipts?"

The plastic bags with the paper evidence were spread out all over Steve's desk. "Well, ah, from what I can tell so far, most of these," he indicated a pile on the top left corner, "are from Palm Springs and they pre-date the murder by a good month or so, so I don't think they're of much use to us."

Tanner nodded.

"But these," Steve smiled slightly, waving his right hand over the half-dozen envelopes on the desk, "these are all from the Bay area, including one of the parking stubs."

"Ah ha…" The black inspector leaned over the desk. "And where is that from?"

"Believe it or not, it's from the Carlton on the night of the murder." Steve picked it up triumphantly and handed it to his colleague.

Tanner's head went back slightly. "So… so Goodman parks his car in the garage of the hotel he beats a man to death in…? I'm sorry, but that doesn't make any sense to me… Does it make sense to you?"

Frowning, Steve shook his head. "No… not unless the guy was expecting to get caught. I mean, it's not like a cherry red Chevelle is not going to stand out in a crowd. Unless it was painted before it was parked at the hotel…?" He shrugged. "I guess we're just going to have to ask Goodman that when we catch him, as Mike would say…" They both chuckled.

Tanner brought the receipt closer to his face to get a better look at the numbers. "Does that say the car was checked out at 3:32 a.m.?"

Steve nodded, raising his eyebrows. "Yeah, just around the time Charlie said Trammel was killed. So… what? Goodman beats Trammel to death then calmly takes the elevator to the garage and drives out… covered in blood…?"

Tanner looked up. "Well, that's ballsy, isn't it?" He held the plastic bag up for emphasis. "You know what this means, right? That someone must have been on duty that night in the garage to take the money and let them out, someone who might recognize who it was behind the wheel?"

Steve nodded with a facial shrug. "Yeah… I'll give the hotel a call and see if they know who that was."

"The garage may have it's own staff but it's worth a shot."

"Yeah."

"Anything else?"

"Well, we have a receipt from a restaurant in another part of town, from the night _before _the beating, in cash… and it's for two…" He picked up another plastic envelope and handed it over.

"That's over in North Beach," Tanner said after he looked at it. "For two…?"

"Yeah… from what that Keyes guy told M-… uh, me down in Palm Springs," Steve hoped Tanner didn't catch the near flub, "Goodman came up here alone, looking for Trammel, pissed about the break-up of his marriage and wanting to make Trammel pay for it. So if that's the case… who the hell did Goodman have dinner with?"

"And where was he staying?" Tanner added. He raised his eyebrows. "Yikes, we have a lot of phone calls and visits to make, my man…"

Steve sighed and shook his head, looking at the receipts on the desk. "We sure do. Hope Mike and Lee are making better progress than we are…"

# # # # #

It was just after six when he trudged up the concrete steps to the Stone front door, a file in his right hand. He shifted it into his left and raised his right fist to knock when he noticed the curtains of the large bay window were open and he leaned closer to look into the house.

Mike, his sleeves rolled up, was sitting on the couch leaning over the coffee table, the phone receiver to his left ear as he took notes on a yellow legal length pad in front of him. Steve waited a couple of minutes until his partner had hung up to knock.

Tossing an irritated glance towards the door, Mike gritted his teeth against the pain in his chest as he got up. "Not again…" he mumbled under his breath. He snapped the lock off and threw the door open on his bemused partner. "What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly, obviously confused.

Steve's smile got a little wider. "You, ah, you invited me for dinner, remember?"

"Of course I remember," the older man snapped back sarcastically, "but why are you –"

Steve stuffed the folder under his right arm, raised his right hand and pointed to his watch with his left forefinger. "It's dinnertime," he interrupted softly.

Mike froze, his annoyed eyes snapping from his partner's face to the wristwatch and back again. After a beat his face softened and he asked quietly, "It is?"

Grinning, the younger man nodded. "Mike, it's after 6."

"It is?"

"Yeah, it is." Chuckling quietly, he stepped past the stunned older man into the living room, immediately aware that the smell of something cooking was noticeably absent. He glanced back over his shoulder as he crossed closer to the paperwork on the coffee table. "You, ah, you lost track of time, hunh?"

Mike closed the door slowly, shaking his head slightly. "Ah, yeah… I guess I did."

Steve turned to him with a wide smile. "Don't worry about it. Look, I know we'd promised ourselves we'd start eating a little better but, ah, for tonight, why don't we just order a pizza?" He raised his eyebrows. "How does that sound?"

Mike had moved deeper into the room. "Jeez, I'm sorry, bud- … Ah, sorry, I was on a roll, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess," the younger man chuckled. He nodded towards the table. "You get anything?"

Mike made a face, shaking his head. "Nothing yet. But I worked my way through all the garages that do paint jobs and I'm working on the dealerships that supply 'Fathom Blue' paint. Oh, thanks for calling with that little nugget, it helps a lot."

"No problem. Well, ah, why don't you call for that pizza and while we're waiting, I'll fill you in on the rest of the little nuggets we managed to dig up today. I think you'll be surprised."

Mike's face lit up. "I better order that pizza," he chuckled, almost jogging into the kitchen.

Steve watched him go, an affectionate smile lighting his face.


	54. Chapter 54

Mike pulled another piece of pizza free from its neighbour, holding it high enough for the strings of cheese to snap, then dropped it on the plate. "So the Chevelle was parked in the Carlton garage on the night Trammel was killed…?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, that makes no sense to me whatsoever… Does it make any sense to you?"

They were sitting at the small kitchen table, the pizza box between them.

Chewing, Steve shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense to anybody," he said after he swallowed, "unless it was done deliberately."

"But why would it be done deliberately?" Mike took a bite.

Steve shrugged. "Just one of the little mysteries we have to solve, Lieutenant," he chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess…" Mike nodded absently, staring into space as he chewed. "Did Lee get anywhere tracking down the wife yet?"

Steve shook his head. "Not yet, but he's still working on that. He's still got a lot of hotels and motels to call. And then we have to find out who Goodman had dinner with the night before Trammel got killed. I think that's going to be a big reveal, but it was so long ago now, I doubt very much the restaurant staff is gonna remember, especially since whoever it was paid cash. Bill's checking it out tonight."

"That's good. You know, that's a good point about maybe the Chevelle being painted before it was parked at the hotel…"

"Does that screw up all the info you got today?" Steve asked with a frown. "I mean, it now makes the timeframe for the painting a little wider…"

Mike shook his head. "No, I was pretty broad with my questions with regards to time… but nothing… I'll finish up with the dealerships sometime tomorrow so… fingers crossed…"

They shared a companionable silence for several seconds then Steve chuckled. "You know as disgusting as I find Trammel to be, I'm really intrigued by all this… I mean, it seems like Goodman went to a lot of trouble to cover up what he did… and he did a really good job of it until, of course, you know, he bragged to his buddy back in Palm Springs…"

"Yeah… thank god most criminals are stupid, hunh?" They shared a laugh.

Mike let another hush settle over them for a few beats then he asked quietly, "So, ah, have you talked to Mel at all since we got back from Palm Springs?"

Picking up another piece of pizza, Steve froze momentarily then shook his head.

Mike nodded slowly to himself. "You know, of course, that you're going to have to at some point… for both your sakes…"

Still looking at the pizza, Steve nodded. "I know," he said quietly.

The older man took a deep breath. "Have, ah… have you made up your mind?"

The younger man took his time freeing another piece of pizza and putting it on his plate. He nodded slowly, looking down and inhaling loudly. "Yeah… yeah, I have…"

Trying not to wince, Mike reached across the table with his left hand and cupped the back of his partner's neck, squeezing gently and affectionately. "Good," he said softly.

# # # # #

"Get a good night's sleep tonight, you hear," Mike instructed with a chuckle as Steve stepped out onto the landing.

"I will."

"And, ah, and I'll keep a better eye on the time tomorrow, I promise," Mike raised his right hand, his index, middle and ring fingers extended in a Boy Scout salute.

Chuckling, Steve started down the stairs. "No problem… actually, that pizza was really good."

"Call me if you uncover anything that I should know about."

"Of course." Steve stopped partway down the steps and turned back. He met the older man's eyes evenly. "Thanks…"

Mike smiled warmly. "Anytime…" He stood in the door watching until the LTD disappeared down the hill.

# # # # #

"Got her!" Lessing crowed, almost jogging towards Steve's desk when the inspector walked into the bullpen.

Tossing his jacket on the back of his chair, Steve looked up with a frown. "What?"

"Carole Goodman - or actually, Rochford - I got her… well, sort of... She was here in The City for two days before Trammel was killed, staying in a motel in South San." The young black inspector shook his head with a sigh. "I think I phoned every place on the peninsula; my dialing finger is sore."

"You can commiserate with Mike," Steve chuckled. "So what have you got, sort of…?"

"Now I have to confirm that it really was her but a woman named Carole Rochford checked into the Sunset Motel on Mitchell Avenue on June 24th and checked out the morning of June 26th… the morning of the day Trammel was killed… Coincidence?" he asked facetiously with a sly grin. "I think not…"

Steve snorted. "I think not, too. So what's next?"

"I'm gonna head over there this afternoon with a picture of our Mrs. Goodman, nee Rochford, and see if anybody remembers her. Their front office shift change is at 4 so I'll be there before then and catch both the ones coming and the ones going."

"Great. Do me a favor and bring a photo of the Chevelle and see if anyone remembers it – in either cherry red or dark blue?"

"The Chevelle?"

"Yeah, we're thinking that maybe it plays a bigger part in all this than we first thought."

Lessing nodded. "Will do. And just so you know, I'm gonna keep trying to find out where she went after the 26th… I still haven't heard from the bank yet so I don't know if she's made any withdrawals lately, and there's no credit card that I know of right now…" He shrugged. "And I'm also trying to track down members of her family to see if they've heard from her recently or if she has any connections here in the Bay Area."

"Great, keep me informed."

With a nod, Lessing headed back to his desk. Steve wandered over to Tanner's desk, whose occupant was on the phone. By the time he sat in the guest chair, his colleague was hanging up. "Another dead end," Tanner sighed, nodding at the phone.

Steve gestured with his chin towards Lessing. "Lee's tracked down Carole Goodman, sort of..." He brought his temporary partner up to speed on what they'd learned about her.

Tanner frowned. "Hmmm, that's very interesting. I wonder how she fits into all this… I mean, besides having an affair with Trammel and leaving her husband for him and then getting dumped by him," he finished with a mirthless chuckle.

Steve grunted in accord. "Yeah. So, ah, got anything on those prints yet?"

Tanner sat to attention. "Ah, yeah, got four sets identified. Goodman's, of course – and we got his prints from his Palm Springs house. I mean, up until he murdered Trammel, he led an exemplary life – no prints on record anywhere… Anyway, his were all over the car, of course, but that's not surprising. But two of the others are very interesting. They both come back to guys who have extensive records for Grand Theft Auto in the Bay Area."

Raising his eyebrows, Steve leaned forward, very interested. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Tanner said slowly, drawing out the word, "but I don't think they're a part of the Goodman investigation."

"Why not?"

"'Cause their prints were only found on the driver's door… so I'm thinking these guys, either separately or together, were casing the car to steal it, and they tried the door to see if it was open."

Steve slumped back in the seat with a snort. He shrugged. "Yeah, that makes sense. So what about the fourth set of prints?"

Tanner started to laugh. "Remember that patrolman Sergeant Brown told us about – the one who ticketed it and wants to buy it?"

Nodding, Steve snorted. "They're his…"

"They sure are. They were found on both doors _and _the hood. I'll bet he opened it to look at the engine," Tanner speculated, continuing to chuckle. "So I think we can write those off too."

"Yeah… Well, let's hope some of the other prints pan out. So what happened with the North Beach restaurant?"

Tanner shook his head. "Nobody that was working last night remembers, but that's not surprising. It was almost a month ago and it's a busy place. But the waiter whose table that receipt was for wasn't on duty last night but he does have a shift tonight so I'm going to go back."

Steve nodded, thinking. "Do me favor, will ya? Bring that DMV photo of Mrs. Goodman with you too, okay?"

Tanner's head went back slightly. "_Mrs_. Goodman…?"

"Yeah… I'm taking another page out of Mike's book and playing a hunch…"

# # # # #

"Bingo!" came the excited voice over the receiver. "I hit one out of the park, Smiley!"

"Okay, great, so what have you got for me?" Steve couldn't stop the grin; it had been a long time since he'd heard his partner so excited. He was holding the receiver awkwardly with the limited mobility of his left fingers; with his right he pulled the pad closer and picked up a pen.

"Okay, so Stewart Chevrolet in Colma sold one gallon of base coat, three gallons of 'Fathom Blue' top coat and two gallons of clear coat on July 20th. That's enough paint, by the way, for a car the size of a Chevelle, so I was told."

Writing furiously, Steve asked, "How long does it take a car to dry?"

"With all those coats? About twenty-four hours, maybe a little longer."

"Great. And you got a name I'm assuming…?"

"Well, that's where it kinda goes off the rails…" Mike's voice faltered slightly. "It was sold to a Martin Bayner. B-A-Y-N-E-R. I've got the credit card number but no address, I'm afraid."

"That's okay…" Steve said, continuing to write, "give me the number." When Mike finished, he continued, "I'll call and get that info as soon as I can." He leaned back and looked at the name he had just written. "So who the hell is Martin Bayner?"

"Yeah, that's what I've been asking myself. Great," Mike chuckled dryly, "somebody else to track down. And, to be honest, Steve, I'm not even sure if he's involved. He just might be some guy who wanted to paint his car."

The younger man laughed. "Well, let's hope not, okay? This might be the first solid lead we've gotten in awhile. So, what are you going to do next?"

"Well, I still have a few more dealerships to call – this might not be the only 'Fathom Blue' paint sale recently. And I had a rather lengthy conversation with the chief mechanic at the dealership… you know, about painting and all that. He told me the equipment you'd need if you want to paint a car yourself, and he also gave me a list of places that sell that kinda stuff. So I'm gonna call them as well."

Impressed with his injured partner's stamina and initiative, Steve chuckled warmly. "That sounds great but do me a favor and don't wear yourself out, okay? You're supposed to be recuperating, remember? I want you back in the office… we all want you back in the office, understand?"

There was a short, almost uncomfortable silence on the other end then Mike said softly, "Yeah, I understand… Don't worry, I'll pace myself. Hey, ah, you're still coming by for dinner, right? I thawed out a couple of those pot roast meals Jeannie left for me. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great," Steve chuckled, hoping Mike could hear the warmth in his tone over the phone. "Hey, ah, this is really good. I'll start the work on I.D.'ing this Martin Bayner guy right away and I'll let you know what I turn up."

"Okay, that sounds good."

"Hey, ah, thanks a lot, Mike."

"Anytime… anytime… I'll, ah… I'll see ya tonight."

"You bet." He hung up, sitting there for several seconds and staring at the receiver with a warm smile. Then, looking at the name on the pad in front of him, he picked up the Rolodex and brought it closer, flipping through it till he found the number he needed, snagged the receiver again and dialed.


	55. Chapter 55

All of a sudden, it seemed, things started to pick up a little speed. By the time Steve got to De Haro that evening, he knew he would have several items to relate and mull over at the dinner table but, surprisingly, Mike beat him to the punch, almost pouncing on him the second he opened the door.

"Good, you're here. I think I tracked down the painting supplies," the older man blurted out as he quickly took a step back, allowing a somewhat startled young inspector to enter the living room.

"What?"

Mike closed the door with a slam and covered the short distance to the coffee table enthusiastically, grinning. "Well, I spent the morning calling the rest of the dealerships and nobody else sold any 'Fathom Blue' paint recently, so I started calling all the shops that sell painting supplies in the East Bay area that the Colma dealership gave me. But that didn't pan out either, so I expanded my search and I found this large hardware store over in Union City that sold everything someone would need for painting a car during the time frame that we're interested in."

When Mike paused to take a breath. Steve gestured to the couch but the older man just shook his head, plowing on. "Now the guy I talked to remembered the sale because the guy doing the buying had no idea what he was doing so it all had to be explained to him and that took awhile. And before you ask, yes, the sale was made in cash but no, they don't have the receipt handy. They have to go back through their files to find it and he's going to call me as soon as he does but it probably wont be till some time tomorrow, hopefully in the morning…" Panting slightly, he stared at the younger man with raised eyebrows and a silly grin.

Steve looked at him silently for several long moments then said quietly. "Wow…"

"Wow? That's all you have to say?" Mike's grin had disappeared and he frowned disappointedly.

Steve laughed. "No, I meant, wow!" He put more emphasis on the word. "That's really good… I mean, that's great, really."

Mike nodded his appreciation with a quick smile. "Thank you. Oh, ah, dinner's ready anytime you're…" He gestured towards the kitchen and shrugged.

Steve grinned and nodded. "I'm starving. Didn't have time for lunch today. Things were coming in fast and furious."

The older man's eyes widened in anticipation as he led the way into the kitchen, crossing to the stove and putting on a pair of oven mitts. Steve dropped the file folder he was holding onto the table, tossing an affectionate glance in his partner's direction. Slipping the sleeve carefully over the cast, he took his jacket off and dropped it on the back of the nearest chair, pulled his tie off and stuffed it in a pocket, then dropped heavily into the chair, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

Mike glanced over as he opened the oven door. "Is it my imagination or are there even more signatures on your cast?" he chuckled.

In the midst of rolling his left sleeve up above the cast, Steve looked at it and laughed. "Yeah, all the guys I used to work with in Vice ganged up on me in the lobby this morning and they wouldn't let me into the elevator until they'd all had a crack at it."

Mike was carefully taking the foil-covered plates out of the oven one at a time and setting them on top of the stove. He frowned with a chuckle. "What, one of them was carrying a magic marker?"

Steve shook his head slowly with a heavy sigh. "Paul Slater, you know the guy I was partnered with over there for awhile? He said he's been carrying one around with him since he heard about this," he raised the cast slightly, "just for that purpose."

Continuing to chuckle, Mike was gingerly taking the hot foil off the plates. "Was he a Boy Scout when he was a kid? You know 'Be Prepared'…?"

Steve laughed. "Probably." He took a deep breath. "That smells glorious."

"I know," the proud father beamed as he carried one plate to the table in his left hand and set it down in front of the younger man. "Dig in."

Steve waited till Mike had returned with his own plate and sat before he picked up the knife and fork. He'd become pretty adept at using his somewhat constricted left hand. Mike picked up his own knife and fork, looking across the table before attacking his dinner. "So, ah, you guys made progress today too?"

Raising a piece of gravy-covered beef towards his mouth, Steve paused. "Progress…? Yeah, that seems to be an aptly descriptive word…" He smiled enigmatically as he put the fork in his mouth then closed his eyes in ecstasy at the taste, moaning in pleasure.

Mike lowered his head and fixed him with a glare, which the younger man chose to ignore for the several long seconds it took to chew, swallow and stab another forkful. Finally Steve looked up and met the unblinking blue eyes; he paused momentarily then flashed a smile. "Oh, ah, you're waiting for me to tell you about our progress?" he asked facetiously.

Mike didn't move.

After another couple of silent seconds, Steve's face broke into a wide grin and he laughed, raising the forkful of food. "Okay, where to you want me to start?" He popped the roast potato into his mouth.

Mike shook his head quickly with a wide-eyed shrug. "I don't care. Wherever you want. Just give me some information!" His feigned anger was betrayed by his laugh.

"Well, let's see, where _do _I start?" Steve finished chewing the potato and swallowed. "Okay, well, got a call from Pete Waters down in Palm Springs this morning. They haven't got too much that's new for us. Turns out Carole Goodman's parents moved out of Palm Springs a few years ago; her father retired and they moved upstate somewhere. Eureka, they think. She's an only child. They got this info from one of their neighbors so who knows how accurate it is, but Lee is going to check it out."

"Anything more about that blood they found on Trammel's floor?"

Steve speared another piece of roast beef as he shook his head. "Not a thing. All they know is the blood type, which is the same as Trammel's but we know it's not his, so…?" He shrugged as he popped the beef into his mouth.

Mike was staring at the table between them, his gaze unfocused. "You know, I've been thinking about that too. I know it probably has something to do with Trammel getting out of town so fast but, you know, it might not have anything to do with Goodman." He looked slowly at his dinner companion and raised his eyebrows.

Steve, who had been watching him, tilted his head and made a face. "Yeah… that's a possibility…" He stabbed the tines of the fork through a very tender piece of carrot. "So I already told you about Lee finding out that Carole Goodman – or, sorry, _a _Carole Rochford – checked into that motel down in South SF, right? Anyway, Lee headed down there a couple of hours ago to see if any of the motel staff recognizes that DMV photo of her. He said he'd call here if he got anything." He glanced at his watch. "He should be finished by now so if he hasn't called he probably doesn't."

"Well, he may have to go back," Mike said optimistically, putting a piece of roast beef in his mouth.

"Always the glass half full," Steve chuckled quietly and the older man grinned and bobbed his eyebrows. "Lee didn't have any luck last night with the North Beach restaurant but he's going back tonight 'cause the waiter that served that particular table on the night in question wasn't working last night but he is tonight."

"Okay, that's good."

"Oh, ah, I had Lee bring the picture of the Chevelle and Bill bring the one of Mrs. Goodman with them."

Mike stopped moving and tilted his head, a slight smile playing over his lips. "What, do you think that Goodman was having dinner with his wife that night?"

Looking down, Steve smiled slightly too. "You mean, do I think she and her husband were working together, like you do, Lieutenant?" he asked softly.

Mike sat back, leaning his hands against the edge the table. "When did you start to think that?"

The younger man looked at him and the smile got wider. "Probably just after you did."

"So you don't believe what the neighbors said… that she and Trammel had an affair and it devastated her husband to the point where he threatened, and then killed, Trammel?"

"Oh, I think the neighbors actually do think that; I think they were telling their truth. I just don't think they know _the_ truth, actually…"

Chuckling, Mike raised his right hand again and stabbed another piece of potato. "You know, it took me years to get that cynical…"

Steve laughed. "I don't think it's cynical, I think it's logical… don't you?"

With a facial shrug, Mike nodded. "What got you thinking that?" he asked as he put the potato in his mouth.

Steve sighed and shook his head slightly. "After we got that restaurant receipt… I kept trying to figure out who he would feel comfortable enough, in a strange city, to have dinner with in a popular restaurant… although he was savvy enough to pay cash…"

Mike's head was bobbing slightly. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking too… We definitely gotta find out more about her."

"We're trying…"

"I know you are," Mike chuckled affectionately. "But what bothers me is Goodman leaving that car in Oakland. I mean, that's a special kind of car right, a muscle car. Guys don't give those up without a fight… and a cherry red one?" He shook his head. "No, I think there's more behind that car ending up on an industrial street in Oakland than it just being painted and dumped, you know what I mean?"

Steve was staring at the older man, nodding slowly. "You know, I didn't think of that, but you're right. We did get a call today from Sergeant Brown from the OPD. He did a canvas of all the buildings near where the car was dumped and nobody remembers seeing anyone do it."

"That's not surprising, it was probably done in the middle of the night. But that also means that there was at least two people involved. I mean, I don't think there are many people who'd want to walk out of that section of Oakland all by themselves in the middle of the night, do you?"

Steve chuckled dryly. "I know I wouldn't."

"No, neither would I," Mike confirmed grimly, "so I'm pretty sure there had to be someone else there in another car."

Steve told him about the four identified sets of fingerprints, which gave Mike a good laugh. "And," he said, dragging out the word as he wiped his mouth with the napkin and put it down, pushing his chair back slightly and picking up the file folder that had been sitting on the far corner of the table, "I have some preliminary news on your Mr. Martin Bayner."

Putting his knife and fork down on his plate, Mike's head snapped up. "Oh yeah? What's –?"

The phone rang and Mike looked up at it almost angrily. Steve glanced at it then back at his partner. "That could be Lee," he said hopefully.

Mike got up quickly and snagged the receiver of the wall phone near the entrance, wincing with pain and irritation at the sudden movement. "Hello." He listened for a second, his eyebrows on the rise, looking at his partner. "Yeah, Lee, Steve's here. I'll let you tell him." With a smile, he held the phone out and Steve got to his feet, taking it.

"Yeah, Lee, what have you got?" He listened intently, looking down at the floor and nodding. "Okay, great… yeah… yeah, okay, I'll see you tomorrow morning. Thanks… Yeah…? Yeah, I will." He hung up and turned to Mike with a broad smile. "Lee says to take care of yourself and have a good night."

"Well, good night back at him. What else did he say?"

Steve cocked his head and grinned. "He got a positive I.D. It _was _Carole Rochford in that motel in South San. And she wasn't driving the Chevelle."

Nodding slowly, Mike sat back down. "Well, well, well… so our Mrs. Goodman was seen in town, or close enough, in the two days before her husband beats John Trammel to death in a hotel room." He shook his head. "That's not a coincidence…"

Steve shook his head. "No, I wouldn't think so." They fell silent for a moment, considering the implications then Steve raised his eyebrows and smiled, opening the file. "So, do you want to know what I found out about your Martin Bayner?"


	56. Chapter 56

"So, there is only one Martin Bayner in the East Bay area, luckily for us, and according to the DMV, he's twenty-five, he's had a driver's license since he was sixteen, he's never had an accident, there are no demerit points or outstanding tickets against his name – so he's a good driver," Steve added as an aside, with a smile, "and he lives in Fremont. Has for the past six years." He took Bayner's driver's license photo out the file and laid it on the table in front of his partner.

Mike growled lowly, scowling. He had hoped they'd found their 'smoking gun' but it didn't sound like it. He looked at the photo; Bayner was a handsome, dark-haired guy with a nice smile and perfect teeth.

"He drives a 1969 Mustang in Grabber Yellow – so it would be hard to miss," Steve glanced up at his frowning partner, "and he's got one of those personalized plates – HRSPWR." He looked at Mike again. "I think that means 'horsepower'."

"Okay," the older man said slowly, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head in annoyed disbelief. "Well, he'd be easy to spot in a yellow Mustang, wouldn't he? Which brings me to my next question – why did he buy 'Fathom Blue' car paint? I mean, would you paint your 1969 'Grabber Yellow' Mustang dark blue? I sure wouldn't."

Steve closed the folder. "Well, that's one of the questions we're going to be asking him tomorrow when we pay him a visit."

"You're going out on the streets? I thought Roy and Rudy said you couldn't." Mike's frown had turned into a scowl of concern.

"We're just going to go talk to the man, Mike, we're not going in guns blazing. Besides, I'll not only have Bill with me, we have to contact the Fremont PD and get their permission so I'm also going to request that one of their units accompany us. They can park on the street in front of his house, really obviously, you know… And if Mr. Bayner is hiding something, it might help loosen his tongue a bit if his neighbors see a cop car sitting outside his house."

Mike shrugged slightly. "That's if he's got something to hide. Maybe he just bought that paint for a friend."

"Maybe… we'll find out tomorrow." He got to his feet. "Listen, ah, I better get out of here. It's been a long day, for both of us, and I think it's only going to get busier. And I don't know about you but I could use the sleep." He glanced around the room, then down at the table and the dirty dishes. "But I'll help you clean up first."

"No no no, you get out of here, I can clean up. There's only these dishes anyway, and I can do that, believe me. You get yourself home. Have a beer and relax and then get some sleep, okay?" Mike smiled at him warmly.

After a second's hesitation, Steve smiled and nodded. "Okay, thanks." He picked up his jacket and the folder and started for the door, Mike on his heels. "Thanks again for the info on the hardware store," he said over his shoulder and heard his partner's soft chuckle.

"You're welcome."

They had reached the front door and Steve opened it, stepping out onto the landing. "And thanks for dinner… again," he laughed gently and Mike shook his head.

"Don't thank me, thank Jeannie… And listen, you be careful tomorrow and call me when you finish with Bayner, okay? I want to know everything."

"I'll tell you everything, don't worry," Steve chuckled.

"Okay," Mike smiled. "And don't forget about dinner tomorrow night. Maybe I'll whip up something for us…"

Steve eyed him with amused skepticism. "Okay," he said slowing and Mike growled, taking a playful swipe at him. Laughing, Steve ducked then started down the stairs. "Have a good night and I'll talk to you tomorrow," he called over his shoulder.

"You too," Mike laughed, watching him go.

# # # # #

He pulled the LTD to the curb in front of the fire hydrant and turned the engine off, then slumped slightly in the seat. The sun was almost down and the deep blue twilight glow added another layer of fantasy to the scene across the street, the strings of small bright lights illuminating the elevated deck of the popular Russian Hill restaurant.

There was a line of patrons waiting patiently near the front door, and the babble from the crowded outdoor patio could be heard across the street and all the way to the unmarked police car.

She was in there somewhere, he knew, and for a few seconds he thought about getting out of the car and going in, if only just to see her. But that was a bad idea, he realized, and would do neither of them any good.

Whatever he had to say to her, he had to do in person, he knew… and alone. That was the only way, the honorable way. He owed her that, at least. He owed himself that.

With a melancholy sigh, he started the engine, shifted into Drive, and pulled the LTD away from the curb.

# # # # #

"Sorry I didn't call last night but the waiter that I was supposed to see changed shifts with someone else at the last minute and he wasn't there, but I was told he is definitely coming in today at 3. So, you want to come with me to check him out and then we can head over the bridge to Fremont."

Steve grimaced slightly. "You know, of course, that's going to mean we hit the bridge at rush hour… it's gonna take us forever to get over there."

Tanner tilted his head with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that but it's really out of my hands."

Chuckling slightly, Steve bobbled his head, reaching for his pad and pen. "Well, can't be helped, I guess. Gonna be a busy day…"

# # # # #

"So what time are you and Bill going over to Fremont?"

The receiver pinned between his left ear and his shoulder, Steve pulled the pad closer to his right hand and picked up a pen. "Yeah, that's what I wanted to call you about. I'm probably not going to be able to get to your place for dinner tonight, it'll be too late. Bill's talking to the Fremont PD right now. We want to make sure he's there so we'll probably wait till early this evening to make sure he's home. Why?"

"I don't know… It's just, well, I was thinking about what we talked about last night, you know… about why would he buy blue car paint when he owns a yellow Mustang? And I can't help thinking he's involved in all this… What about you?" Mike sounded more than a little concerned.

Steve took a deep breath, smiling to himself. "Yeah, I was thinking about that too. Listen, ah, I'll call you as soon as I hear anything, okay? And you better get off this line in case that hardware store is trying to call you, right?"

"Yeah, you're right. Talk to you later." The line went dead.

With a chuckle, Steve took the receiver away from his ear and looked at it, shaking his head, before dropping it onto the cradle.

# # # # #

Lessing approached Steve's desk with his notepad in his hand and a smile on his face. He dropped into the guest chair with a satisfied sigh, his eyes alight. "So, you want to hear what I found out from our Mrs. Goodman's family?"

Looking at him with a bemused smile, Steve nodded as he sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. "Okay, shoot."

Lessing glanced up quickly from the notepad and chortled, dropping his head.

Steve frowned. "What?"

Shaking his head, the young inspector chuckled, "I half expected you to pull out the bottom drawer and put your foot on it, like Mike does…"

With a sigh and a smirk, Steve cocked his head and his eyes narrowed. He gestured at the notebook and raised his eyebrows.

"Okay," Lessing said briskly, swallowing his smile, and his amused eyes returned to the notebook. "So, ah, I found her parents up in Eureka and I spoke to both of them this morning. They confirmed what the neighbors in Palm Springs told you – that Carole and her husband were high school sweethearts and she waited for him to return from overseas before they got married and they had an idyllic marriage… according to them…"

"You sound skeptical," Steve said softly and Lessing smirked.

"Well, they did say that they were shocked when they were told that Carole had had an affair with Trammel, and they said it must have been something Goodman did to drive her to do it, because she was head-over-heels in love with him – Goodman, that is." He raised his eyebrows. "I think they are still looking through rose-colored glasses, if you know what I mean… Anyway, they said they haven't talked to her in almost two months and they don't know where she is. They were kinda worried when we hung up."

Steve nodded, pointing at the notebook. "That all?"

Lessing smiled. "Not quite. Her parents gave me the names of two of Carole's female cousins that they know she keeps in touch with… and I called them. And I got a totally different story from them, let me tell you…"

"Please… tell me…" Steve smiled, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward.

"Well, according to cousin number one, the marriage was all a sham. Carole liked Matthew but she wasn't '_in love'_ with him, at least '_not in the conventional sense'_ is the way they put it. She said that they got married to please her parents…" He looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows again. "And, if this cousin is to be believed, they had a rather…open marriage…"

"Open? Like, in what we all think an 'open' marriage is?"

Lessing nodded. "Exactly. So affairs were not uncommon for either of them. They were discreet… but, for some reason, she said, this one was different. She said Carole told her that she really fell for Trammel, for some… weird reason, and that's why she left Goodman. And that Goodman was more mad than devastated… that it was somehow an… an affront to his manhood…" He shrugged.

Steve leaned forward, looking down. "That's very interesting…"

"Isn't it?" Lessing chuckled.

Steve raised his head. "What does cousin number two say?"

"Exactly what cousin number one said, to the letter."

"Hunh… well, well, well, that puts a somewhat different spin on all this, doesn't it? I mean, here we've been thinking that Goodman beat Trammel to death for stealing his wife, when he actually did it to… avenge his manhood…? Seriously…? I mean are some people that shallow…?"

"Apparently. I mean, come on, we've both seen worse on this job, right?"

"Yeah," Steve agreed with a heavy sigh. "Is there no one involved in this case that has a moral backbone or are they all… morally bankrupt…?"

Lessing chuckled. "You're beginning to sound more and more like Mike…"

"I'm beginning to understand him more and more. I'm amazed he's not more cynical than he is after so many years in this job…"

The phone on his desk rang and Steve picked it up. "Homicide, Keller."

"Steve?" It was Mike, and he could tell from the one word that his partner had more news for him. "I just got a call from the hardware store. They found the receipt."

"Great. What did they say?"

"The sale was made in cash, like they said, so no credit card information but wait till you hear this. Yes, they sold all the equipment needed to paint a car: the sprayer, a sander and sandpaper, paint thinner and masking tape, all of that. But…" Mike paused for emphasis, "but they also sold a large blue tarp and a length of nylon rope."

"So… what? The tarp would be used to protect the floor right?"

"Well, it could be," Mike agreed, "but the salesman who talked to the guy said he told him just to put newspapers on the floor and tape newspapers to the parts of the car that needed to be kept clean. He mentioned nothing about using a tarp… and definitely nothing about nylon rope."

Steve paused for a moment. "So you're thinking…?"

Mike chuckled dryly. "I'm thinking that is what someone might use to… oh, I don't know… dispose of a body…?"

A silence lengthened over the phone line, then Steve asked quietly, "That's a leap, isn't it, Mike?"

There was another chuckle then the older man said softly, "I know, I know… but we've made them before, haven't we…?"

"Yeah… yeah, we sure have…"

"So, ah, so I know it's you're charge and it's your case, but I want you to do me a favor, okay?"

"What's that?"

"Bayner could be in this way up to his neck, if not higher, and I don't think we should tip our hand before we're ready. I think you and Bill should head over to Fremont right now, don't wait for the Fremont PD, and just scope out Bayner's house without him seeing you."

"You mean, see if he has a garage… and maybe a big backyard with a garden…?"

"Yeah," the older man said softly, "that's exactly what I mean."


	57. Chapter 57

The tan LTD crawled slowly up the short dead-end road, the two men in baseball caps in the front seat trying very hard to look inconspicuous. It was proving extremely difficult.

Martin Bayner's home on Ramsgate Place in the Northgate Community Park area of Fremont, California was a well-kept beige stucco bungalow with a small front lawn, a paved driveway and a two-car garage. As they cruised by, even though it was just after noon on a Friday, one of Bayner's neighbors was running a hand mower over his tiny patch of grass, eyeing the large sedan with a curious and somewhat confrontational stare.

Ramsgate Place was not a through street, or a street anyone drove down unless they knew someone who lived on it; strange cars were not welcome and met, it seemed, with suspicion.

"Great," Steve mumbled under his breath as they got to the end of the street and he pulled the LTD into a one-eighty on the large paved circle to head back down. They were still being watched, and he debated smiling and nodding to the vigilant neighbour as they passed him once again, but decided discretion was the best course of action at the moment. Mike's words about 'tipping their hand' kept ringing in his ears.

As the sedan approached Darwin Drive, Steve snapped the right turn signal on and, after waiting for a little longer than necessary at the stop sign, made the turn. He drove for a couple of blocks then pulled to the curb in the shade of a large tree and turned the engine off.

With matching sighs, the two inspectors looked at each other and chuckled. "Well, that was awkward…" Steve said with a snort, taking the Giants cap off and dropping it on the seat beside him. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Did you get a better look at the house than I did? I mean, I saw the garage but that was about it."

Tanner laughed. "Well, not as much as I wanted to see but, yeah, there's a two-car garage and a backyard. It's behind a tall wooden fence so I couldn't see how big it is but if it goes to the Parkway behind there, it's a good size. There seems to be a couple of trees in it too."

Steve was nodding. "Good, good… I wonder how friendly Bayner is with his neighbor…?"

"You mean the guy giving us the evil eye?"

"Yeah… If we're lucky, his neighbors hate him and don't speak to him." They both chuckled. Steve inhaled deeply. "Well, seeing where he lives is a good eye-opener, I'm glad Mike suggested it. If he is involved in this whole Goodman/Trammel thing, we just can't go charging up to his front door and start asking him questions. I want to know a lot more about him before we do that."

Tanner, under an A's baseball cap, was nodding. "So how do you want to do this?"

Steve grunted. "Well, first thing I want to do is take the DMV photo we have of Bayner to that hardware store Mike was talking to, confirm that it _was_ Bayner that bought that stuff. We can do that first thing tomorrow morning. But now that we know that Bayner has both a garage and a yard, I want to get as much info on him as we can – credit cards, family history, everything. I want to know who we're dealing with here, and how he figures into this… _if_ he figures into this."

Tanner was looking at him with a furrowed brow. "This is all just a hunch right now though, isn't it? I mean, we're not even sure it _was_ Bayner that bought all that stuff, right?"

Staring out the windshield and shaking his head, Steve said quietly, "No, we don't… but Mike's gut is telling him that Bayner is involved somehow… and I kinda agree with him." He looked across the front seat. "I've seen Mike's hunches pay off more times than I can remember… and I'm not about to question it… not now…" He looked down and whispered, "I owe him…"

Tanner studied his colleague's profile for several long seconds then he nodded. "Okay, well, uh, what do you want to do now?"

With a long sigh, Steve looked across the front seat again and smiled. "Well, we're not going to get anything else over here so let's head back. I can start work on finding out who this Bayner guy really is and you can head over to that restaurant again." He started the engine. "Oh, ah, I keep forgetting to ask. Any follow-up yet on that garage attendant at the Carlton?"

As Steve shifted the car into Drive and accelerated away from the curb, Tanner nodded. "Yeah, sorry, forgot about that. Yeah, the guy on duty that night was away upstate for a few days but he's back and working the night shift tonight. Starts at midnight so I'm gonna go see him then."

"No, don't bother," Steve said as he turned right onto Fremont Blvd. heading for the 880 North. "You've been working longer hours than I have lately. You go home after the restaurant and I'll do the midnight call, okay?"

The black detective looked at him with a frown. "But you're still on restricted duty. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay… thanks."

Steve smiled. "You're welcome." They fell into a companionable silence. He knew he had his evening free now, and Mike wasn't expecting him for dinner. When they got back to Bryant Street he would call the Russian Hill restaurant; if Mel wasn't working tonight, it could be a good opportunity to finally put the entire Tahoe business behind him.

# # # # #

By late afternoon, Steve had managed to put together a preliminary profile of Martin Bayner, and all it did was put the Fremont, California man nearer to the centre of the bulls-eye. He was sorely tempted to give Mike a call and fill him in, but he hadn't heard from his partner since he and Tanner had returned and he was hoping the older man was taking it easy today. He snorted to himself; _yeah, that's what he's_ _doing,_ he thought sarcastically.

Lessing approached his desk. "So what do you need?" he asked with a smile as he dropped into the guest chair.

Steve cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. "Well, this is going to take some patience and ingenuity…"

"Then I'm the man for the job. What is it?" the slightly younger detective chuckled.

"Okay, well, you know all about this Martin Bayner, right?"

"The guy from Fremont who may, or may not, have been involved in painting the Chevelle…?"

Steve nodded. "That's the guy. Anyway, I've got more on him and he's getting more and more interesting the deeper we dig. And I'll tell you all about that later but right now I need you to do something else for me.

"Okay, what's that?"

"I need you to get me his fingerprints."

"Okay… So you're telling me his fingerprints aren't in the system anywhere?"

"Well, nowhere I can find right now. And I want to see if any of his are on the Chevelle."

"Gotcha. Okay, well, this is gonna take some work, I'd think. I guess I can tail him and hope he handles something like a glass or something like that…" Lessing was obviously thinking of possibilities. He started to nod slowly. "Okay… okay… leave it up to me, I'll get 'em…" He looked at his colleague and smiled.

"Great. So, anyway, he works," Steve picked up the pad on his desk and ran his finger down the page, "he works as a phototypesetter for the Oakland Tribune. I'm not sure what his hours are, unfortunately, and I don't want to call and ask them 'cause that could tip my hand. So I'm gonna leave that up to you."

"Okay…" Lessing had slipped his notebook and pen out of his jacket pocket and was jotting down the necessary information.

"I've already talked to Roy and he's arranging for you to use a couple of rookies to give you a hand. You know, change people, change cars when you follow him – you know what to do."

Lessing was nodding. "Yeah… let's hope he's a restaurant goer…" He chuckled, looking up. "Okay, I'll start right on that." He got up. "Leave it to me and let's hope he's a cooperative unknowing stooge…"

Steve grinned. "Thanks, Lee. Good luck."

# # # # #

Steve glanced at his watch then picked up the phone. He dialed a number he knew by heart and a soft feminine voice answered quickly. "Yes, hi… could you tell me if Mel is working tonight?... Yes, thanks, no problem." He sighed, playing with the phone cord as he waited. "Yes?... Okay, thank you…" He slipped the black receiver back onto the cradle. "Damn…" he muttered under his breath; her shift was starting in a half hour, not enough time for him to do what he wanted to do.

He looked across the bullpen. Tanner's desk was empty; he was at the North Beach restaurant Goodman had frequented before Trammel's murder. He was just about to pick up the receiver again to call Mike when the phone rang; he jumped slightly before answering it. "Homicide, Keller."

"Yeah, Steve, it's Bill. I just got through talking to that waiter. I showed him both Trammel's and Goodman's pictures and got nothing. He says he never remembers the men 'cause they aren't his thing but he thinks he remembers Mrs. Goodman. He can't be a hundred percent sure, he said, but he says it could be her. He remembers because she 'was a babe' – and those are his exact words."

"Really… Well, that's very interesting, isn't it? That sort of confirms our suspicions, but it still doesn't explain why Goodman and his wife were having dinner together in San Francisco two days before Trammel was beaten to death in his hotel room." He sighed in frustration. "We've gotta find her, Bill…"

"Yeah, I know we do," came the weary voice over the phone line. "I'm trying, Steve, I'm trying…"

"Yeah, I know you are. Listen, uh, get your butt home and take the rest of the night off and we'll try to put fresh eyes on this tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Yeah, will do. You still going to the parking garage tonight?"

"Yeah. I know I could probably ask that guy over the phone but Mike always says having a cop asking you to your face always seems to focus the mind a little more," he chuckled and he could hear Tanner doing the same. "Besides, I want to show him a picture of the Chevelle, see if it triggers a memory. Have a restful night, Bill, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks, you too." The line went dead.

Shaking his head, Steve dropped the receiver onto the cradle with a heavy sigh.

# # # # #

For some reason the steep concrete steps seemed higher tonight. When he got to the landing he peeked in the bay window, expecting to see his partner leaning over the coffee table again but the room was empty.

He took the ring of keys out of his jacket pocket and found the one for the door. Rotating the tumblers as quietly as he could, he stepped into the sunlit room. He was just turning to close the door when he spotted his partner lying on the couch. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he tiptoed deeper into the room.

Mike was on his back, his right forearm across his stomach, his left arm dangling off the couch. He was sound asleep.

With a warm smile, Steve watched him for several seconds. Then, with a quick nod, he turned and left the house, closing and locking the door quietly behind him.

# # # # #

He woke with a start, catching his breath as the sudden movement sent a stab of pain through his chest. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes till the discomfort subsided.

He thought he could hear someone moving around in his kitchen and he slowly and carefully started to get up. He took a deep breath and froze; he wasn't totally sure but he thought it smelled like barbeque sauce. Setting his jaw and trying not to moan, he pushed himself to his feet, pausing momentarily to make sure he was steady then started for the kitchen. He stepped into the entranceway and stopped.

Steve, an apron tied around his waist, was reaching into the open oven door, a basting brush in his right hand. He looked up with raised eyebrows and a warm, goofy grin. "I'm making ribs."


	58. Chapter 58

Looking half-asleep, Mike blinked several times and shook his head slightly, trying to wake himself up. He tried a smile. "I didn't hear you come in…" he said softly as he ran a hand through his mussed hair.

Temporarily finished with the ribs, Steve straightened up and closed the oven door, putting the sticky baster on a saucer on the counter. "Ah ha, yeah, I did that on purpose. I didn't want to wake you."

"You sure didn't." Mike squinted, looking at the clock on the back of the stove. "It's almost 8? When did you get here?"

Steve chuckled, wiping his hands on the apron then opening the fridge and taking out a can of ginger ale. He opened it and handed it to his still waking partner. "Well, I first got here just before 5 but you were sound asleep. And I had a feeling you probably weren't up to doing any cooking tonight, so I went out and got us some ribs." He grinned and bobbed his eyebrows.

Smiling lethargically, Mike tilted his head. "Sorry about that… but I didn't think you were going to make it tonight." He took a sip of the ginger ale.

Steve had turned around and was leaning against the counter beside the stove. "Well, after I talked to you this morning Bill and I headed over to Fremont to scope out Bayner's house, and we weren't going to go back there again tonight."

Just the way his partner had phrased it, Mike knew there was something not quite right. "Why's that?"

Steve smiled reassuringly, shaking his head slightly. "Nothing major, I'll tell you while we eat." He glanced at the stove. "Which shouldn't be too long. Why don't you go and, ah, freshen up," he chuckled, "and it should be ready when you get back."

Mike laughed gently, putting his ginger ale on the table before leaving the kitchen and heading for the stairs. "That sure smells good," he called over his shoulder.

# # # # #

"So," Steve said, putting the denuded rib down on the plate in the centre of the table and licking his fingers, "his house is in the middle of this short dead-end, and there we were in this hard-to-miss tan land yacht cruising down the street like we know where we're going, getting the evil eye from some neighbor mowing his lawn…" He shook his head in mock frustration.

Mike chuckled, still working on one of the ribs. "Well, did you get any kind of a look at the house?"

Steve bobbled his head. "Bill got a better look than I did but it does have a two-car garage and a backyard. Hard to tell how big it is, the yard, but it might have a couple of trees so it's bigger than a postage stamp."

"So what's your next move?" Mike dropped the bone on the plate and started to lick his fingers.

"Well, I want to know everything about Bayner before we confront him so I've put Lee to work trying to get his fingerprints. I want to find out if any of those unidentified prints on the Chevelle belong to him."

Mike nodded, raising his eyebrows.

"And I want to get more on his background… and that takes time, as you well know, but I did find out something today that I'm going to dig into a little deeper." He picked up another sauce-slathered rib.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" Mike did the same.

"Well, turns out Bayner grew up in Palm Springs." He fashioned his partner with a knowing smile before he bit into the tender meat.

Mike had frozen mid-motion, the rib halfway to his mouth. "He did?"

Steve nodded. "Yep. That's where he lived up until he moved to Fremont. Now, I don't know where in Palm Springs yet… or what schools he attended… but that's another one of those coincidences I know you don't like, right?"

Mike hadn't taken his eyes from the younger man's face and now he nodded slowly. "You bet I don't like them…" he said softly as he sat back, the rib seemingly forgotten in his hands. "Well, isn't that interesting?" he asked rhetorically with a dry chuckle.

"_I_ thought so," Steve laughed as he bit into the large rib once more.

After a few silent seconds, Mike leaned over his plate again and raised the rib. "Oh what a tangled web we weave…" he chuckled quietly before taking a bite.

Chewing, Steve nodded.

When he finished swallowing, Mike asked, "So did you find out what Bayner does for a living?"

Steve wiped his mouth with the paper napkin, nodding again. "Yeah, he's a phototypesetter with the Oakland Trib."

"A _photo_typesetter?" Mike frowned. "I know what a typesetter is. That's those guys who make up the newspaper pages with those little metal letters, right? And then they can go through the printing press… right?"

Steve was nodding. "Yeah, they don't do that anymore. I'm really not sure what phototypesetting is, even though someone explained it to me, but it has to do with projecting characters into photographic paper…?" He shrugged, laughing when he caught Mike looking at him as if he was describing a three-headed horse. "I know, I don't understand it either but I don't think we have to for this case, I really don't."

"Good," Mike said with a chuckle, his attention returning to the rib in his hands.

"Anyway, I talked to a friend at the Chronicle – they use phototypesetting too, that's where I found out about what it is, sort of…" he laughed self-deprecatingly, "and he said their phototypesetters work two shifts. Because it's a morning paper, like the Trib, they use a noon to 8 shift and an 8 to 4 a.m. shift. The Trib probably does the same."

"Do you know what shift Bayner works?"

Steve shook his head. "Not yet. And I'm trying to figure out how to find out, other than tailing him from his house to work. That neighborhood is not conducive to covert operations, if you know what I mean. We'd stick out like a sore thumb, either in a car or on foot. And I don't want to just call the paper 'cause that kind of inquiry is sure to get back to him, so…?"

Mike thought about it for a couple of seconds then shrugged. "Well, can't help you there," he chuckled. "You're the boss, you gotta figure it out."

"Gee, thanks," Steve laughed, picking up another rib. He bit into it, looking at his partner under his brow, trying to find the right approach for what he was going to say next. "Listen, ah, in the spirit of full disclosure, and just so you know I'm not keeping anything from you…" He saw Mike become very still and his eyes narrow. He cleared his throat.

"Out with it."

"Ah, I'm the one going to the Carlton tonight to interview the garage attendant." He smiled nervously.

"I thought Bill was going?" Mike's voice was low and even.

"Ah, yeah, he _was _going, but he's been working a lot more than I have these past few days and… well, I think he needs some time off, you know, to see his wife and all that…?" He shrugged.

"I thought Rudy and Roy told you you're not supposed to be going out on the streets…? I mean, you already… pushed the envelope, as they say, this morning, didn't you, going over to Fremont?"

"I never got out of the car, we were just driving by his house…"

The pitch of Steve's voice had started to rise, a sure sign he was getting agitated, as Mike well knew.

"… and I'm just going to show the garage attendant a photo and see if he remembers seeing the Chevelle?"

Mike stared at him unblinking. "You think you'll be okay on your own?"

Thrown by the sudden and unexpected capitulation, Steve hesitated for a second before stammering, "Ah, yeah… yeah, of course…" He chuckled nervously.

With one quick nod, Mike looked back down at the rib in his hand and took a bite.

Realizing he was off the hook, Steve shook his head, continuing to chuckle. "Come on, you got to admit, you'd do the same thing if you were in my shoes, right?"

Mike continued to eat, ignoring him. After several long seconds, his eyes still on the greasy rib, he said quietly, "Of course I would." He looked up and grinned.

Steve stared at him for a long beat then laughed and shook his head, "Oh yeah, almost forgot, Bill finally got ahold of that waiter at the North Beach restaurant…?"

"The one where Goodman ate two days before the murder?"

"Yeah, and he doesn't remember anything specific but he thinks he recognizes Mrs. Goodman as being one of the patrons. Bill said the guy told him he never remembers men – they aren't 'his thing', I guess – but he remembers the woman because she was 'a babe', and I'm quoting there. But Bill says he wouldn't swear to it under oath, so…again…?" He shrugged with a chuckle.

"Well, well, well," Mike said quietly, staring into space for several seconds. "This is getting more and more interesting all the time, isn't it?" He looked at his partner and smiled. "We haven't had a case this convoluted in a long time, have we? I'm kinda liking this…"

Steve chuckled and nodded. "Me too."

Mike dropped the rib bone on his plate with a satiated sigh. "Those were really good… thanks. I didn't know you could cook like that."

"You're welcome," Steve said with a laugh, wiping his mouth and sitting back with a warm smile. "It's one of the things Mel taught me –" he began then stopped abruptly. He swallowed heavily and looked down, suddenly uncomfortable.

Mike watched him for several long beats then asked quietly. "Have you talked to her yet?"

Still looking down, Steve shook his head. "I've been too busy and she's been working. I just haven't had the chance…"

"Well, the sooner the better, for both of you… you know that, right?"

"Yeah… yeah, I know…"

Mike stared at his downturned head for another few seconds then slapped the table. Steve's head snapped up. "So, ah, look, ah… I've been sleeping most of the day, I'm not tired… Do you think I should go with you to the Carlton tonight…? You know, talk to the garage attendant, see what –"

"No," Steve interrupted softly but firmly.

"But we wouldn't be long, right? Just going to ask him about the car and then -"

"No."

Mike snapped his mouth shut and frowned, looking for all the world like a scolded child. After a silent few seconds he asked sulkily, "Why not?"

Steve smiled like a patronizing parent. "Because you were told you weren't to leave the house on police business… And because the hotel is downtown, which is like a lot closer to where I live and not really close to here at all, which means I'd have to drive you all the way back here and then go all that way back home…" He stared at his partner unblinkingly.

Eventually Mike lowered his head and looked down. "You're no fun…" he mumbled, and Steve couldn't contain his grin and his chuckle.

"But I tell you what, seeing as you're not tired and I have some time to kill before I have to get to the hotel, what say I help you with the dishes and then we play some crib for awhile. How does that sound?"

Mike stared at him with a warm smile for several long seconds then nodded. "That sounds like a great idea."

# # # # #

"Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, two is six and six is a dozen…. I win… again…" Mike smiled smugly as he pegged out. "One more?" He was almost leering as he started to gather up the cards.

With a low growl, Steve tossed his cards on the table and glanced at the stove clock. "Yeah, I've got time for one more. Maybe I can win one…" He moved the pegs home on the long wooden board sitting on the kitchen table between them.

"Maybe," Mike chuckled as he started shuffling then dealing.

Steve picked his cards up. "So when was the last time you talked to your daughter?"

Mike put the deck down and picked up his cards. "Jeannie?"

Picking two cards out of his hand to throw onto the table in front of his partner, Steve snorted, "You have another daughter I'm not aware of?"

With a withering look, Mike tossed his two crib cards down. "Why do you ask?"

Steve shook his head with a facial shrug, still studying his cards. "No reason. I was just wondering if you've told her about… you know…" He looked up and gestured vaguely towards his partner's chest, his smirk disappearing.

Mike sobered and took a deep breath then shook his head slightly. "No, ah… no, I haven't…"

"Are you going to?"

He shrugged slightly. "I don't know… maybe when she gets home, but… I don't know…"

"Your ribs won't be completely healed by the time she gets back. Don't you think she'll be a little suspicious?"

"Oh, I can bluff my way through a rib injury. I can just tell her I hurt them tackling a suspect…" He shrugged again. "I just really don't want to tell her I got shot… it'll scare the hell out of her…" He met the younger man's eyes, suddenly unsure. "You're not going to tell her -?"

"I wouldn't think of it," Steve interrupted quickly, shaking his head. He smiled reassuringly. "You don't have to worry."

Mike stared at him for a couple of long seconds then nodded with a warm smile. Almost self-consciously he looked down at his cards. "Ah, you start…"

Swallowing heavily, Steve nodded with a chuckle. "Right." He picked a card out of his hand and tossed it on the table.


	59. Chapter 59

Steve parked the LTD on the street and entered the hotel garage through the entrance. There was a young, Afro-haired black man in a grey uniform in the small kiosk at the exit. He took his star and I.D. out of his pocket as he approached.

"Dante Oliver?" he asked the startled young man pleasantly, not at all surprised to see the sudden look of concern that flashed across the garage attendant's face.

"Uh, yeah, uh, yes, sir," Oliver stammered, swallowing involuntarily, fumbling to open the flimsy metal door of the glass-walled cubicle and standing in the doorway.

Steve smiled reassuringly, pocketing his credentials. "Don't worry, Dante," he said with a chuckle, using his first name to hopefully break the ice, "I just need some information from you, that's all."

Instantly the young man relaxed, a wide grin seeming to explode from his face. "Sure, man, sure… whatever you need."

"Thanks." Steve slipped a couple of pictures out of his inside jacket pocket. He could see the young man frown when he spied the cast almost hidden by the sleeve. "Baseball bat," he said enigmatically, raising the cast slightly, silently chuckling when he saw Oliver's eyes widen. When he chose not to elaborate, he knew he had the young man's complete attention and, hopefully, his cooperation.

"You were working here the night of June 26th, right?"

Oliver's brows knit. "I don't know, man, that was a long time ago."

"Your supervisor said you were."

"Well, then, I guess I was. I don't know." He shrugged.

"Well, I was wondering if you might remember a car that left that morning around 3:30?"

"A car…? Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to remember one car leaving almost a month ago?" There was no animus in his tone, just surprise and amusement.

Steve held up a photo of Goodman's cherry red Chevelle. "This car."

Oliver stared at the picture then his eyes shot wide and he grinned. "Oh, yeah, I remember that one. That was one sweet set of wheels, that's for sure."

Still holding the photo up, and trying not to smile, Steve transferred it to his left hand and held up another one. It was Goodman's DMV photo. "Do you recognize this man?"

Oliver looked at the picture and shook his head. "No… Was he driving?"

"You tell me."

Continuing to shake his head, Oliver muttered, "Nah… but to tell you the truth, I wasn't looking at no driver… I was looking at the car…"

"So can you remember at least if it was driven by a man or a woman?"

Oliver looked at him, continuing to shake his head. "Nah, sorry man… that hour of the morning, I'm lucky if I'm awake… but, yeah," he looked at the photo of the Chevelle again, "I do remember that car, man… that was a beauty…"

Trying to suppress a slightly disappointed sigh, Steve put the photos back in his jacket pocket. "Okay, thanks, Dante, I really appreciate it." He held out his right hand; there was a five-dollar bill between his first two fingers.

The younger man looked at it suspiciously then, with a big smile, shook the outstretched hand, stuffing the bill in his uniform shirt pocket . "Hey, no problem, man…" As the cop started to walk away, he called out, "Hope you find the car!"

"We already did!" Steve yelled back as he disappeared out the garage entrance.

Oliver frowned, confused, as he sagged against kiosk doorframe. "What…?" Then, shaking his head and shrugging, he closed the door and went back to work.

# # # # #

"Hello."

"I knew you'd still be up," Steve chuckled as he dropped onto his couch and balanced the phone on his knee.

"Very funny," he heard Mike laugh on the other end of the line. "What did the garage attendant tell you?"

"Well, he recognized the car – he was quite positive about that – but he couldn't remember the driver. He only had eyes for the car, he said."

"That's not surprising. Which car, the red or the blue?"

"Red. Which tells us, of course, that it was painted _after_ the murder and not before…"

"Right. And which also might suggest that painting it was not Goodman's idea…"

"Yeah. Listen, ah, what's the name of that guy at the hardware store in Colma? The guy you think talked to Bayner? I'm going to go down there tomorrow morning and show him Bayner's picture, see if he recognizes him?"

"_You're _going down…?" He could hear Mike's concern over the phone and he chuckled.

"Bill and I are going down… Happy?"

"Ecstatic," came the droll reply, followed by a soft chuckle.

"Anything to make you happy, Lieutenant."

"I'll be really happy when you get that cast off and I get back to work." If Mike had hoped to keep the melancholy out of his voice, he was only partially successful.

"I hear ya…" Steve responded softly.

"I think it's Mark… something… I've got it downstairs. Give me a second."

He could hear Mike put the receiver down on the nightstand, get out of bed and leave the room. He exhaled loudly, taking the phone away from his ear for a couple of seconds as he tried to stretch the kinks out of his neck. He heard Mike pad back into the room and the receiver being lifted. "Yeah, Mark Summers."

"Thanks. Look, ah, I want to get to bed. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a busy day."

"Aren't they all?" Mike chuckled. "Sleep well and I'll talk to you some time tomorrow."

"Yeah, you too." Steve hung up, sitting quietly for a bit, staring into space. Then he slowly got up and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

# # # # #

"Well, I just called that hardware store in Colma. The guy Mike talked to is working today so you want to head down there?" Steve didn't have to raise his voice too much for it to carry across the almost empty Saturday bullpen.

Tanner nodded. "Sounds good. I just have a couple of phone calls to make first, is that okay? Just want to follow up on some of those inquiries I've got out there about Bayner's Palm Springs background."

"No problem." Steve pulled his notepad closer and flipped it open then stopped. He looked at the phone, as if trying to make up his mind. He glanced at his watch: 10:43. He knew the restaurant didn't open till noon but the day shift staff would be there already. He picked up the receiver and dialed.

"Hi, ah, yeah, I know you're not open yet but I was wondering if you could tell me if Mel is working the evening shift tonight?... Yeah, thanks…" He picked up his pen and started to doodle on the legal pad under the phone. He glanced idly into Mike's office; Devitt had taken the day off. "Yes?... Okay… Oh, I see… Yes, thank you very much." He hung up, looked at the phone and sighed.

# # # # #

"I don't think I've ever been to Colma," Tanner said as they turned off El Camino Real onto Serramonte, "except to go to the cemetery…"

Steve snorted dryly. "Yeah me too." He looked down at the notebook open on his lap. "It should just be up here on the left."

The traffic was moderate and Tanner pulled the LTD into the left lane of the four-lane major thoroughfare.

"There it is," Steve pointed through the windshield and Tanner nodded, snapping on the turn signal. A few minutes later, they were showing their stars and I.D.'s to a balding middle-aged man with a broad smile and a firm handshake.

"Yeah," Mark Summers said genially, "I had a long talk with Lieutenant Stone, told him all about that guy who came in here wanting to paint a car." He looked from one detective to the other and shrugged. "Is there something else you need?"

"Yeah, ah," Steve said with a smile and he nodded at Tanner, who was holding a large manila envelope. "We'd like you to look at some pictures and tell us if you recognize the man. Is that all right?"

Summers shrugged again. "Sure."

Knowing that they might need Summers testimony at a future date should this case ever go to trial, and not wanting to prejudice his I.D., Steve had put together a photo array – Bayner, Trammel, and four other randomly selected headshots. Two were of convicted felons that he knew were still incarcerated, the other two were detectives. He smiled to himself; that little ploy had backfired on him and Mike once when a witness had picked out one of the detectives.

Tanner slipped the template out of the envelope and held it up. Slightly startled, Summers looked at the black detective with a small smile and took the display folder.

"Do you recognize anyone here as the man you talked to?" Steve asked, both he and Tanner watching Summers closely.

"Ah, yeah," the store employee blurted out with a chuckle, "that guy there." He pointed to the bottom right photo. "That's the guy."

Steve and Tanner shared a look; it was Bayner.

"Would you be willing to testify to that in court if the need arises, Mr. Summers?"

Nodding vigorously, Summers looked at him. "Yeah, sure…" He handed the display back to Tanner. "So, ah, what's this guy done?"

Steve smiled. "Ah, we're not at liberty to discuss that right now, I'm afraid. But we want to let you know you've helped us out a great deal, and we appreciate it."

Summers shrugged. "Sure, anytime."

# # # # #

"So your Mark Summers recognized Bayner."

"Yes!" Mike almost shouted over the phone and Steve could hear him slap a table in elation; he just wasn't sure if it was the kitchen table or the coffee table. He chuckled. "So what are you going to do next?"

"Well, there isn't too much more we can do until we get more background on Bayner and we probably won't get that until at least Monday when everything opens up again. I'm going to get everything we've gathered together so far and put in a preliminary report."

"Heard from Lee about those fingerprints yet?"

Steve glanced over at Lessing's empty desk. "Not yet, but I'm sure he'll work on it all weekend until he gets something."

"He better," Mike chuckled. "Still no leads on where either Goodman or his wife are right now either, right?"

"Nope. But I doubt they're together…"

"Yeah, me too," Mike interrupted with a soft laugh. "Okay, well, if you want to drop by afterwards, feel free… it's up to you."

"Yeah, thanks… I might just lie low tonight…"

There was a long pause. "Okay. Well, get some rest and I'll see you when I see you… Have a good night."

"You too, Mike."

# # # # #

He pulled the LTD to the curb and turned the engine and the lights off. He could see the pale blue Corolla parked further down the block on the other side. Slumping in the seat slightly, he held then released a deep breath, staring at the small house across the street. The sun was beginning to go down and the light behind the closed curtains in the front room signaled that someone was home.

He sat there for several minutes, letting all the thoughts that had churned around in his mind over and over in the last few days fight their way to the fore. He knew what he wanted to say, he had even rehearsed it, but he also knew the moment he looked into her eyes it would all disappear. Then, with one quick determined move, he got out of the car, pocketed the keys after locking it and started across the street.

Approaching the wrought-iron gate, he raised his right hand to press the doorbell then hesitated. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then punched the button. It was several long seconds before he heard the lock on the wooden front door disengage and it opened slightly.

Though she was backlit in the dark doorway, he knew it was Mel. Neither of them moved for several long seconds, then she slowly started towards the wrought-iron gate. As she stepped into the light, he saw her face for the first time. She was staring at him expressionlessly but he could see the lines of pain and loss etched into her delicate features.

"We need to talk," he said softly, and he saw her nod.


	60. Chapter 60

Mel unlocked the wrought-iron gate and took a step back, allowing Steve to move past her and into the house. He stopped just inside the door. She slowly shut the gate then, with her head down, re-entered the house and closed the wooden door. She moved deeper into the living room then turned towards him, her face unreadable.

Meeting his eyes, she gestured towards the couch. He glanced that way then shook his head slightly. "No, ah… I won't be staying that long," he said softly and she closed her eyes and bit her lips. She nodded.

He cleared his throat quietly and she opened her eyes. He was just about to speak when her gaze fell on his left hand and she started slightly with a quick gasp. "Oh my god, what happened?" Her voice was laced with surprise and worry.

Momentarily confused, having become so used to the cast he almost didn't notice it anymore, he froze, looked down briefly then raised his arm a bit. "Oh, ah… it's nothing…"

She was staring into his eyes. "Are you all right?" There was genuine concern in her tone and he felt his throat constrict.

He nodded. "Yeah… yeah, it's just a bone in my wrist… I'm fine. I'll get this off in a couple of weeks." He sighed almost sadly, realizing that under any other circumstances he would have told her of his injury the moment it happened; so much had changed since the Independence Day weekend.

She stared at him for a couple of seconds then nodded, cleared her throat and looked away. "How's, ah, how's Mike doing?"

Steve nodded, bobbing his head. "He's doing okay. He's not back to work yet but he's doing okay…" He didn't want to tell her about the incident in Palm Springs; it would bring up too many things he didn't want to explain.

Mel nodded, biting her upper lip, and dropped her head. She had wrapped her arms around herself. "That's good…" she whispered.

He stared at her silently for a couple of seconds. "Ah, listen, Mel, I've been giving this a lot of thought… and, ah…" He paused and cleared his throat, looking down briefly. "I keep thinking back to that day, to what could have happened, to what I could have lost… and I just can't get past that..." He took a breath, staring at her unblinkingly. "Every time I close my eyes I see Mike lying in that alley, the bullet in his chest… and he's dying… and he's alone… and I'm not where I'm supposed to be… I'm not with him…" He inhaled deeply, looking down and closing his eyes.

He heard her take a shaky breath.

"And I know it might still have happened even if I'd been there, I know that… but I wasn't. And because of that I'll never be sure… and that guilt is going to haunt me for the rest of my life… And I know that as well…"

She was staring into his eyes, biting her bottom lip. She took a half-step towards him. "Steve…" she said breathlessly and he raised his right hand, cutting her off.

"I know what you're going to say, Mel," he whispered. "You're going to say that you're sorry and that you had no idea that something like this could happen… that you only wanted one more night together… and that you'll never do anything like that again. And I believe you, I really do…" He stared at her, the sadness and the tempered anger so evident in his eyes.

"But it's not enough… and right now I don't think it'll ever be…" He shook his head, looking down. "I tried, Mel… you have to believe me, I really tried to understand why you did what you did but…" He looked up, meeting her haunted eyes unwaveringly. "But you don't seem to realize what I could so easily have lost that day… to never hear his voice again, see his smile, feel his touch..." He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, bringing his right hand up to cover his mouth. She watched as his gaze unfocussed and he stood without moving for several long seconds.

Then he looked up. "I need to be able to trust the people in my life, Mel, all the people… I trust Mike, I trust him withmy life and I always will, just like he trusts me… or at least he did…" He snorted dryly with a helpless shrug. "I don't think I've lost it, but I'm not sure… and I really wouldn't blame him if he didn't completely trust me anymore, not after what happened… and I don't know what I'll do if I have, I really don't…"

His voice cracked and inhaled deeply, looking up into her now-brimming eyes. "But I know I can't trust you, Mel, not anymore… And as much as I would like to again, I don't think that's ever going to happen… and I'm sorry."

He turned and took a step towards the door. He heard her suppress a sob and he stopped. After a long second he turned and looked at her again. He raised the cast on his left forearm. "You want to know how I got this?" he asked and, though she knew it was a rhetorical question, she nodded anyway. "Mike and I were interviewing a possible suspect in one of our cases and someone else came at me with a baseball bat. If Mike hadn't been there, I could've been killed. That's what having a partner means… that's what trust means…"

He moved to the door and opened it then stopped once more, but this time he didn't look back. "I thought you were the one, Mel, I really did…" He exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry…" He stepped through the door, leaving it open behind him as he exited through the wrought-iron gate and out onto the sidewalk. Without looking back, he crossed the quiet street quickly to the LTD, pulling the keys out of his jacket pocket.

He got behind the wheel and stuck the key in the ignition then froze. Blood was pounding in his ears and he could feel his heart thudding against his ribs. He inhaled deeply and raggedly as he felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there until his hands stopped shaking and he felt in control enough to drive. He started the engine then looked across the street at the small house; he couldn't see the front door from this angle so he wasn't sure if it was still open. But the light in the living room was still on.

Closing his eyes and releasing a deep breath, he shifted into Drive then, with one last look at the house, pulled the large sedan away from the curb and drove away.

# # # # #

He picked up the receiver on the second ring. "Hello."

"Yeah, uh…" Steve hesitated, suddenly unsure, and cleared his throat. "You're up?" He tried to sound lighthearted and failed miserably.

Mike froze, suddenly on alert. "Yeah," he said softly, "yeah, I am… Are you okay?"

"Yeah… yeah… Ah, listen, ah," the younger man chuckled nervously, "ah, you got any of that, ah, that Glenfiddich left?"

There was a long silence over the line then Mike said gently, "Yeah, there sure is… Hey, ah, you had anything to eat yet?"

"Me?"

Mike frowned, worried; he had never heard his partner sound so unraveled. But he was pretty sure he knew why. "Yeah… you. When was the last time you ate?"

"Uh, I don't know… earlier today sometime…"

"Listen, ah, why don't you come over here, spend the night. You can use Jeannie's room. What do you say?"

There was a short pause. "Yeah, ah… yeah, that sounds like a good idea… yeah…"

"Where are you?"

"Ah… what?"

"Where are you calling from?"

"Oh, ah… a pay phone…"

"Okay… a pay phone where?"

"Ah, Vermont and 16th…"

Mike smiled to himself; that corner was only a few blocks away.

"Listen, ah, get yourself over here and I'll whip you up something to eat, okay?"

There was another short pause. "Ah, yeah… yeah, I'll do that…" The line went dead.

Mike took the receiver away from his ear and looked at it. He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly.

# # # # #

He had been on tenterhooks until he heard the soft knock on his front door and he opened it to find his somewhat disheveled and obviously troubled partner. "Hey," he said gently, opening the door wide enough for the younger man to move past him into the living room.

Steve greeted his best friend with a brief but grateful smile as he took off his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the sofa, then pulled his tie free from his unbuttoned collar and dropped it on top. Without another word, Mike patted him on the back, running his hand up to briefly grip the back of his neck with a gentle shake before he continued into the kitchen.

Steve followed, his eyebrows rising slightly in surprise when he spied the Glenfiddich bottle and a whiskey glass sitting on the kitchen table near a single place setting. A large pot of water was boiling on the stove.

Mike glanced at the pot and shrugged apologetically. "It's spaghetti… the sauce is the only thing I could thaw on such sort notice… sorry…"

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Don't apologize, Mike… it's perfect… don't worry about it…"

The older man smiled warmly. "Okay, I won't." He crossed to the far side of the stove, taking a handful of uncooked spaghetti from a tall glass container and dropping it slowly into the boiling water then picked up a long-handled fork and stirred.

Steve pointed at the single place setting on the table. "You're not eating?"

"I already did. But I haven't had dessert yet… we can eat that together," he laughed gently. "Apple pie."

Steve frowned. "Did you go out shopping today?" he asked, knowing there had been no pie in the house the previous night.

Mike tilted his head and grinned like the Cheshire cat. "I did not. But I did make it myself from some of those apples that were on the verge of going bad."

Inclining his head slightly, Steve narrowed his eyes. "You made the pastry?"

"Umh-humh… that's one of the things Jeannie taught me," he said carefully, knowing he was parroting Steve's words about Mel and the ribs. He watched as the younger man froze momentarily, his gaze dropping quickly.

Covering, Steve picked up the bottle of single malt, unscrewed the cap and poured a generous helping into the glass. Leaving the cap off, he put the bottle back on the table and picked up the glass, sitting heavily before taking a big sip, squeezing his eyes shut as the mildly astringent liquid slid down his throat.

Mike was watching him from the stove, stirring the sauce. He was going to let Steve steer the direction and set the tone of their conversation tonight, if he wanted to talk at all.

"So, ah, any more news on Bayner or Mrs. Goodman…?" he asked casually, testing the waters.

Steve was staring at the floor, the whiskey glass in his hand. He shook his head. "No… I just typed up that report I told you about…"

Mike nodded as he opened the fridge and took out a can of ginger ale, popping the tab. "Well, that's okay… I'm sure Monday'll be a better day… like you said, we'll find out more about Bayner's days in Palm Springs, I'll bet…" He used the plural deliberately, wanting to subtly remind his partner that whatever was going on, in both their lives, they were in it together… and always would be.

The ploy wasn't lost on the young man. Staring unfocused at the floor, fingering the glass he was balancing on his thigh, he smiled slightly, his eyes brightening. He took a few long deep breaths, feeling his heart starting to pound in his chest again.

Mike busied himself at the stove, giving his partner space and time.

Slowly, Steve leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, cradling the glass in both hands and looking at the floor. "I went to see her…" he said softly, and Mike stopped moving. "Mel… I went to see her…"

Silently and slowly, Mike turned to face him. "What did you say?" he asked gently.

Steve swallowed heavily. A small grim smile appeared. "It's over, Mike…"

The older man closed his eyes and held his breath, then dropped his head. "I'm sorry…"

Steve shook his head with a facial shrug. "There was nothing else I could do… I couldn't trust her anymore…" He took a deep ragged breath, and Mike could see his hands start to shake.

Turning down the heat under the pot of sauce, Mike quietly circled the table till he was beside the distraught younger man. As he watched the silent tears falling to the kitchen floor, he put a gentle hand on the back of his partner's neck and squeezed. Neither of them moved for several long minutes.


	61. Chapter 61

Sitting at the kitchen table, his hand around the ginger ale can, Mike was studying his young partner. Steve was slowly finishing the spaghetti. He had eaten the entire plate without saying a word, and Mike hadn't pressed the issue; the long companionable silence had proven to them both that their bond was strong enough to negate the need for the artificial balm of idle chit-chat to stay connected.

Done, Steve quietly put the fork and spoon down on the now empty plate and pushed it away. He looked up at the older man and smiled slightly, "Thanks, ah… I really needed that…" He hung his head. "…in more ways than one…" he finished softly.

Mike was smiling gently, and he nodded. "Anytime… you know that, right?"

"Yeah… I do…"

The older man cleared his throat slightly. "Listen, ah, the Giants aren't in town and things are kinda quiet this weekend… and neither of us really don't have anything we need to do until Monday… and, to be perfectly honest, I'm getting a little stir crazy…" He snorted softly with a bobble of his head. "Anyway, ah, I was thinking, we could hit the road for the day tomorrow… you know, my car needs a good run… and yours probably does too," he added quickly, knowing how much his young friend loved getting his beloved Porsche out on the open road.

Steve was watching him expressionlessly, sitting perfectly still; Mike wasn't even sure he was blinking.

"So anyway," he continued, trying to sound more enthusiastic about his proposition that he actually felt, "I was thinking that maybe you and I could get outa town for the day… you know, maybe head north, up into wine country. There's this vineyard up on the other side of Santa Rosa; Jeannie really likes their Reisling and I thought maybe we could head up there and I could buy a case for her birthday…" His voice had started to trail off and he shrugged with a soft, self-conscious exhale and a wan smile.

Steve hadn't moved and Mike had no idea what he was thinking. The shattered young man had only put back one small glass of whiskey and he was nowhere near inebriation. Finally, with a studied deliberateness, he leaned forward, resting his right forearm and the cast against the edge of the table.

"You do realize, of course, that you can't carry a case of wine…? Just like you couldn't empty that pot of water just now, remember…? So, what? Basically you're inviting me along on this little trip so I can carry the case for you…?" He had spoken without expression and without inflection.

Mike recoiled slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion and surprise. "No, I, ah… I didn't mean that… I meant it might be good for, ah… for both of us to get away… you know…?"

A tense silence stretched out between them for several long seconds then the younger man smiled. "I think that's a great idea," he said so softly that it took Mike a couple of beats to realize what Steve had said before his face split into a wide and relieved grin.

"Great," Mike breathed with a chuckle, slumping further into the chair as he relaxed with a loud exhale.

Steve sat back, a warm smile lingering on his face. "You said there was pie?"

Mike looked at him blankly for a second then his eyebrows shot up. "Ah, yeah… I'll, ah, I'll put it in the oven to warm up." He got to his feet, grinning. "It won't take too long. I'll put on some coffee while we're waiting…"

He turned on the oven then opened the fridge and transferred the foil-covered pie plate from one appliance to the other. Steve had gotten to his feet, picking up the dirty plate and cutlery and bringing them to the sink. Glancing quickly at the younger man, Mike took a step towards the table and grabbed the Glenfiddich bottle, screwing the cap on and putting the bottle in an overhead cupboard. If Steve saw him do it, he gave no indication, and Mike exhaled quietly in relief as he picked up the whiskey glass and put it in the sink.

Watching the younger man with a small warm smile, Mike asked, "Listen, ah, could you fill the percolator for me? The ribs are a little sore… I guess I did a little too much 'heavy lifting' today," he said with a self-deprecating chuckle and tilt of his head.

"Sure," Steve answered quietly as he crossed back to counter and picked up the stainless steel coffee maker as Mike slid the canister of fresh grounds closer.

The older man looked at Steve from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his state of mind. Briefly biting his lower lip, Mike nodded once to himself as if making a decision. "So, ah, so what did you guys talk about?" he asked quietly.

Spooning the coffee grounds into the percolator, Steve paused momentarily, as if surprised by the question. He smiled without warmth and snorted almost sadly, looking at his partner peripherally. Mike was beside him, busy taking cups and saucers out of an upper cupboard. "We really didn't talk," he said eventually, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't give her much of a chance… I knew what she was going to say and I really didn't want to hear it again…" He had plugged the percolator in and was now just standing at the counter, looking down.

Mike nodded slowly, staring at the cups and saucers he had placed on the counter in front of him. There were standing side by side, close but not touching.

"I, ah… I told her I couldn't trust her anymore… and that I needed to…" He shrugged. "I guess that's all there was to it…" He took a deep breath then turned his head to study his partner's profile. "Do you think I was wrong?"

"No," Mike said quickly, shaking his head but continuing to look down at the counter. "No, not at all," he continued slowly and softly then reached out and laid his hand on the younger man's back. He patted him gently a couple of times before he removed his hand and opened an upper cupboard, taking out two dessert plates and placing them on the counter beside the cups and saucers.

As if taking his cue, Steve opened the cutlery drawer he was standing in front of and removed two small forks, placing them quietly on the counter with a small self-conscious smile.

"So, ah, what say we hit the road about 10 tomorrow morning?" Mike asked casually as he moved back to the table and Steve watched him go with a grateful smile.

"That sounds perfect," he agreed softly, "but, ah, let's stop by my place first and we'll take the Porsche, okay?"

Mike looked at him with a knowing smile. "I knew you were going to say that," he chuckled gently then sat carefully, trying not to wince.

Steve frowned. "You okay?"

Mike nodded vigorously. "Oh, yeah. Like I said, I did a lot of heavy lifting today… probably more than I should've." He watched the younger man's eyes narrow even more. "Don't worry," he continued quickly, "I'm not going to do anything that will delay my recovery, believe me."

Relaxing, Steve almost chuckled.

"Say, ah," Mike said, changing the subject, "it's going to be a few minutes till the coffee and the pie are ready… let's see if you can beat me tonight… What do you say?" He slid the cribbage board and cards that were sitting on the end of the table near the wall closer to the centre, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

Eying his partner almost warily, Steve crossed slowly to the table and sat. He knew what Mike was trying to do, and he was grateful beyond words. He really didn't want to talk about what had happened, but he also didn't want to be alone. This uncannily perceptive man, who had already changed his life in so many ways, always seemed to know what he needed almost before he knew himself.

He reached out and put his hand on the deck of cards, still staring at the older man, his eyes blurring slightly. He blinked several times as he dragged the cards closer and picked them up, awkwardly but valiantly starting to shuffle. "So you don't think I'm going to beat you tonight…?" he asked, his quiet voice tinged with taunting bravado.

Mike smiled with a soft chuckle, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms. He shook his head. "No, I don't." He cleared his throat pointedly. "You, ah, you want to put a little wager on it?"

Still shuffling, Steve frowned slightly. "What kind of a wager?"

"Oh, I don't know…" the older man shrugged, "how about, oh, if you win one game tonight – just one – then I will buy you whatever bottle of wine you want tomorrow from any of the vineyards we visit. How does that sound?"

"Any bottle?" Steve stopped shuffling.

Mike smiled. "Any bottle… But..." He held up a forefinger. "But if you don't win at least one game tonight, then you gotta do the same." He extended his right hand across table and, after a hesitant second, Steve grabbed it and shook.

"You're on."

"Good. I'll even let you take first crib. Deal." He pointed at the deck then put the pegs in their starting positions on the wooden board.

With a soft smile, Steve picked up the deck and started to deal. He tossed the last card on the small pile in front of him then put the rest of the deck down beside the board. As he picked up his cards, he glanced up briefly at this partner. "I thought she was the one, Mike," he said softly.

The older man didn't take his eyes off the cards in his hands. "I know you did," he replied quietly.

# # # # #

He lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling he couldn't see. They had drunk coffee, eaten pie and played cards until almost 2 a.m., when Mike had begged off and insisted he had to get some sleep. The sparse conversation had meandered from sports to politics to current affairs to police department gossip, everywhere except to the subject that was foremost in both men's minds.

And he was grateful for that.

Now, alone with his thoughts, his mind drifted back to those few emotionally charged minutes he had spent with the woman he had hoped would become his wife, the woman he now knew he needed to put out of his mind forever. It was the only way he knew to go on.

He thought back to what he had said, and what he hadn't. He was sure he had gotten his point across, and that he had spared her even more guilt and embarrassment. Yet he was realistic enough to know that he had hurt her deeply and for that he was truly sorry.

But he also knew he wasn't wrong, that he needed someone in whom he could trust as much as he trusted the man in the bedroom down the hall.

He could feel the tears fill his eyes once again, as they had so many times that day. But this time, he knew, these were not tears of anger or grief or regret. These were tears of love and appreciation

# # # # #

He stared up into the dark, his right hand lightly pressing against his chest. His ribs were aching a little more than they had been, and he was a little worried that he had inadvertently put too much strain on them today. But the health and mental welfare of his partner had come first, and always would as far as he was concerned.

He took as deep a breath as he dared, releasing it slowly. His own heart ached for the young man in the other bedroom. He could only imagine how hard it must have been to do what Steve had done today. He'd been lucky; he'd never had to make that choice.

But he knew the repercussions from those few horrific minutes in the Chinatown alley were continuing to ripple through both their lives. And though he didn't exactly know why, he was pretty sure that Steve believed he had lost his partner's trust.

And, try though he might, Mike knew that mere words, no matter how clear and precise they could possibly be, would not be enough to assuage Steve's fears. He didn't know how he was going to be able to prove that it wasn't so, but it was something he knew he would have to do, and do soon, before their extraordinary bond was threatened.


	62. Chapter 62

From behind the dark glasses and under the Giants baseball cap, Mike glanced across the front seat. The sunroof was off and his partner's wavy light brown hair was being blown around as the gold Porsche Targa 911 sped up the 101 towards Santa Rosa. Though it was a sunny and warm late Sunday morning, the traffic was surprisingly light.

Smiling to himself, Mike turned his head to look out the side window as the scenery flew by. He wasn't certain but he suspected that the troubled young man sitting in the driver's seat had finally managed to get a few hours of much needed sleep last night, as he had.

It seemed like so many things had slipped from their grasp in the past few weeks, and he was determined to get them all back. He cherished the close bond he shared with his much younger partner and he knew he would do anything and everything in his power to insure that it stayed viable for as long as possible, hopefully for as long as he was able to remain a street cop.

His throat tightened slightly. That was the one huge unknowable in this otherwise remarkable equation; he had no idea how many good years he had left, and he knew he'd been extraordinarily lucky until now. But the 'incident' in the Chinatown alley had almost put an end to all of that.

Almost unconsciously, his right hand had started to drift towards his still healing ribs before he caught himself, glancing quickly and guiltily across the front seat again, hoping Steve hadn't seen the move. He didn't want his partner to think he was in any physical discomfort, because he actually wasn't; the few hours of sleep he had managed to get had done him a world of good.

Steve looked across the front seat. "You got the directions to that vineyard?"

"Oh, yeah," Mike replied with a slight start. He stuffed his right hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a fairly large piece of paper and opening it before reaching into his shirt pocket to slip out his black-rimmed reading glasses and putting them on. "Ah, okay we stay on the 101 till we get to Santa Rosa then we take a right onto the 12. We stay on the 12 for awhile before we have to turn again."

Steve nodded. "Okay, great. What's the name of this winery?"

"Chateau St. Jean." Mike pronounced it the American way: _Saint John_ instead of the more correct _Sain' Jean_. It always made the younger man smile.

He was surprised he had actually fallen asleep last night; it had felt like he couldn't shut his mind off when he had finally crawled into bed around 2 and he was very surprised when he opened his eyes to find it was close to 10. They had hoped to be on the road by then but, gratefully and wisely, Mike had let him sleep and they had finally headed off just before 11, with the intention of eating breakfast somewhere along the road.

He glanced across the seat again. Mike had put his glasses away but was holding onto the piece of paper. "So, ah, where do you want to eat?"

Mike looked at him and shrugged. "Well, I bet there's some nice mom-and-pop places on the 12… it's more rural. Don't you think?"

Steve nodded. "Makes sense." He signaled and pulled the Porsche into the left lane to pass a couple of slower cars. He was definitely going over the speed limit but not excessively so, and a lot slower than he would have if his partner was not in the car.

But he knew he needed Mike's presence right now, in so many ways. The older man never pushed him beyond what he could handle, with what he could cope; never told him what he should or shouldn't do but let him discover it for himself. And he had slowly realized over the years they had been together that more and more he was living his life so as not to disappoint the man who had, improbably, become the most important person in his life.

He smiled to himself, feeling his throat constrict slightly; his fingers involuntarily tightened on the steering wheel. His cleared his throat lightly, mumbling, "I'm getting a little hungry," to cover his sudden uneasiness.

Mike smiled with a soft chuckle. "Me too."

They found a quaint little diner on the 12 just like they'd hoped, and they both ate a hearty breakfast: a Denver omelette for Mike and steel-cut oats with blueberries and strawberries for Steve, with probably the best coffee either of them had tasted in years. From there it was just a short drive to the vineyard, where they sampled the award-winning chardonnays, pinot noirs and Reislings and Mike bought a case of the latter for his daughter. Luckily for the San Francisco visitors, a vineyard employee put the heavy cardboard box in the trunk for them.

As they got into the Porsche, Steve threw a bemused smile over the roof. "What?" Mike asked as he settled into the bucket seat and the younger man got in behind the wheel.

"At this rate, you're going to be three sheets to the wind before we start home. You know, a real wine connoisseur samples but spits out the wine, then cleanses the palette for the next tasting… Like I did."

Mike grinned. "Yeah, I noticed that. And I know that's what the real wine snobs do, no offense…" he paused with a bowed head and raised eyebrows, "but I think that's a waste of good, and expensive, wine… And besides, I'm not driving…" He laughed as he settled back in the seat, taking out his dark glasses and pulling the bill of his baseball cap lower over his eyes.

Chuckling, Steve started the car and they hit the road again, heading north to their second destination, Spring Mountain Vineyards.

In the four years they had been partnered, any road trips they had made before had been work related. True to form, Mike had done his research on Northern California wines and he had five vineyards earmarked for this long late July Sunday afternoon. He was determined they would visit as many of them as they could and also make sure that Steve had other things to think about other than the turmoil of the past few weeks.

Mike had been reading out the directions when he suddenly stopped and cocked his head, looking at the younger man with a happy smirk. Steve glanced quickly across the front seat and frowned. "What?"

"Uh, nothing, I was just wondering what kind of wine you were thinking of."

"What kind of wine?" Steve shook his head slightly in confusion.

"Yeah, remember…? Our little bet? Well, you won… eventually, and I am going to honor the bet, of course. So I know you like reds and, from what I read in that wine book that Jeannie has, this next vineyard makes some of the best reds in California."

Steve smiled warmly. "Mike…" he started, shaking his head again, "you don't have to –"

"No no no," the older man insisted, cocking his head and emphasizing his words with a pointed forefinger, "a bet is a bet… and you won a game last night… eventually," he chuckled and raised his eyebrows, "and I never welch on a bet."

Steve's smile got a little wider. "Well, if you insist –"

"I do." He glanced back at the directions then through the windshield. "Just be kind, okay? Don't pick out the most expensive bottle in the place… This little trip is costing me already," he chuckled, "but at least I have Jeannie's birthday present all wrapped up, so to speak."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I was wondering about that. How the hell are we going to get that up to your place? I mean, you're not going to carry it, that's for sure, and I'm not supposed too much strain on my wrist yet…"

Under the lowered bill of the baseball cap, the back of his head against the seat, Mike frowned. "Yeah, I've been thinking about that too…" He turned his head to look at his companion. "What do you think? One bottle at a time, each? I mean, that would only mean six trips…"

"Six trips? Up your stairway from hell?" Steve had started to laugh and Mike caught his breath momentarily, elated by the most welcome sound.

"Hey," he growled good-naturedly, "come on, they're not that bad…" He paused and cocked his head, raising his eyebrows and shrugging. "Well, maybe six times in a row they are…" He chuckled, joy washing over him when the younger man, still laughing, reached across the front seat to playfully slap his arm.

Taking a deep breath, Mike pointed through the windshield. "It should just be up here on right about four miles."

The rest of their day went according to plan, much to the older man's relief. Steve had chosen a moderately priced bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from Spring Mountain after the tasting, then they hit the road again, making stops at the Chateau Montelena Vineyards just north of Calistoga then heading south again to Stag's Leap Cellars and finally to the old and venerated vineyards of Buena Vista in Sonoma.

It was in Sonoma where they decided stay for a delicious dinner at the renowned Italian restaurant Negri's, where local lore proclaimed that the original owner was once the personal chef of Rudolph Valentino.

Then, satiated in both body and spirit, they headed home, Mike not quite inebriated but definitely feeling no pain, real or imaginary. And though he had sampled more than his fair share of whites and reds throughout the long afternoon, Steve had remained true to his word and the only actual wine he had consumed was the small glass of red with dinner.

The sun was just starting to set as the Porsche flew down the 101 back towards The City. Steve glanced across the front seat; the back of Mike's head was against the seat and the bill of the cap down over his closed eyes. Steve wasn't sure if he was asleep.

He smiled to himself. He had known from the start what this day was all about, how his partner wanted to get his mind off of everything that had been going on for the past few weeks. And he had to admit it had worked. It had been a marvelous day, full of laughter and good wine, glorious weather and beautiful scenery, and an easy, uncomplicated camaraderie that seemed to come so naturally to them both.

He looked across the front seat again, his breath suddenly ragged as his throat constricted. He thought back – was it really less than a month? – to when Haseejian's frantic words on his answering machine had threatened to destroy forever this life that he had come to cherish. He couldn't believe that not only had his partner survived but was here, now, beside him, enjoying this time together almost as if it hadn't happened at all.

Sometimes you didn't question fate, you just had to accept it. And if getting Mike back had meant losing Mel…? Well, in the grand scheme of things, he thought, he could live with that, as painful as it was.

With another warm smile, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel and looked well ahead down the road. They were together and they were going home.

# # # # #

There was a manila file folder on his desk when he walked into the bullpen the next morning. He glanced around the room but nobody made eye contact; the few inspectors and sergeants present were all busy on their phones.

He flipped the folder open. It was the background information on Martin Bayner that they needed. With a soft smile, he slipped his jacket off and dropped it over the back of the chair before he sat. There was a telephone number on a small piece of foolscap on top of a stack of papers and he picked it up and placed it near the phone before starting to read.

A half hour later, having made copious notes, Steve was reaching for his phone to dial the number on the piece of paper when Lee Lessing charged into the bullpen and up to his desk, dropping in the guest chair and grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. The receiver in his hand, Steve stared silently at his colleague with a startled frown.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me?" Lessing questioned with a chuckle.

"Ask you what?"

The young inspector's shoulders sagged. "Did you forget? Bayner's fingerprints…" He grinned again. "I got 'em!"

Steve's eye shot wide. "You did?" He put the receiver back on the cradle.

Lessing nodded enthusiastically. "It took some work, I tell ya. But Charlie's got 'em right now and he's making the comparison. We should hear from him soon." He paused and shrugged. "I was gonna wait but I wanted to come up here and tell you in person."

"How did you do it?"

"Well, it wasn't easy. I used those two rookies that –"

The phone on the desk rang and they both looked at it then at each other. Steve reached to pick it up.


	63. Chapter 63

Steve picked up the receiver. "Homicide, Keller… Yeah, Charlie, he's here with me… Okay… Yeah… Really? Okay, thanks, Charlie." He hung up and looked at Lessing. "They're a match. Bayner's fingerprints are that single set on the outside of the trunk on the Chevelle."

Lessing sat up a little straighter in the chair. "The _outside_ of the trunk?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, and no where else."

"Now isn't that interesting…?" the younger inspector mused quietly. "So… were those prints put there when he opened the trunk or when he closed it?"

"I guess we'll just have to ask him when we bring him in," Mike's partner chuckled, reaching for his notepad and pen. "Okay, we have some work to do now… I want to finish going through this," he indicated the folder on the desk, "and see what we still need to find out, and then I want you and me and Bill to get together later on today and compile everything we have so far. I want put enough together to get Bayner's ass in here so he can answer all our questions." He looked at Lessing with raised eyebrows. "You're still working on trying find where our Mrs. Goodman is now, right?"

Lessing nodded. "Yeah, and that's a puzzle… but I'm beginning to get an idea…" He grinned suddenly. "Ah, with your permission, _boss_," he chuckled and Steve smirked, "I'd like to take Jenkins and Clarkson back to Oakland today… I want see if a certain someone is actually living with a certain someone else…"

The slightly older man smiled. "I like the way your mind works, Lee. I'm thinking the same thing." He nodded at the file before him. "Let's hope this shines a little more light on that, um… little conundrum." He inclined in his head. "I don't have to tell you to be discreet, right?"

Lessing got to his feet, grinning. "Discretion is my middle name, didn't you know that?" He looked down at himself. "I'd better get home and change – I want to look like a brother, not a cop!" He laughed and had started to cross the bullpen to his desk when Steve called him back.

"Hey, you didn't tell me about how you got the fingerprints?"

Lessing frowned. "You want me to tell you now? I thought you wanted to go through that file?" He pointed at the desk.

Steve smiled, waving his colleague back. He did want to get to the new information on Bayner but he was taking another page out of his mentor's book on the care and feeding of staff and colleagues. And he really wanted to know how Lessing had done it.

"Okay, sure," the younger man said with a smile as he dropped back into the chair and leaned over the desk. "Well, we had to be really careful he didn't spot us, right, so I got one of the rookies – that red-headed and freckled kid, Clarkson? You know the one, looks like he's a 6-foot twelve-year-old?"

Steve shook his head with a shrug. "Nah, I don't know him."

Lessing bobbled his head. "Well, he works traffic, just been on the force for about three months but he's a real keener. I used him and that older rook, Jenkins?"

Again Steve shrugged.

"Black guy…? About five seven? Looks like he should be on a high school debate team if you put him in glasses…?" When there was still no bells rung, Lessing shook his head. "You really gotta get out and meet the rookies, Steve, I mean seriously," he chuckled then cleared his throat when the white detective lowered his head to stare at him from under a furrowed brow, a look remarkably reminiscent of his partner.

"Anyway, we got the okay from the powers that be over in Oakland, with their blessing, they said and so I got Clarkson on a bike – not a motorcycle, a real bike – and sent him into the neighborhood with a bunch of fliers I had made up advertising a garage sale at a fictitious house a few streets over. I had him go door-to-door, leaving his bike at the top end of the street so he had a reason to go down one side and up the other, ringing doorbells.

"He did it just before dinnertime – around 4:30. I figured that way if Bayner was home, then he probably worked the night shift. Well, he wasn't, so that made us think he worked the 4 to 8 shift. Then we found out what security firm they use to monitor their parking lot and I called them up and told them what we needed and they put us in touch with one of the security guards that works the Trib parking lot at night."

Steve had sat back and folded his arms, fascinated and impressed.

"We asked the guard about the yellow Mustang and he knew it well. Says, 'yeah, that belongs to Mr. Bayner', which was music to our ears, of course. Now we knew we couldn't just walk up to the Mustang and take prints – I mean, I know his prints would be on it, right, but so might a lot of other peoples so that's not going to help. But we asked the guard, what do the people that do the typesetting and printing, like Bayner, usually do on their dinner break, which'd be around 8, 'cause, you know, there aren't many places that're open in that area at night.

"And he tells us that most of them paper bag it, but on Friday and Saturday nights, some of the restaurants in the area stay open at night. And most of them go to a place called Carlo's the street over. So that's when I put Jenkins to use. He got all dressed up like this young businessman in a suit with a briefcase and glasses, the whole deal. And he and I sitting in a car across the street from Carlos's and we see a bunch of them from the Trib go into the restaurant and Bayner's with them."

Lessing grinned. "And the rest, as they say, is history. Turned out to be the easiest thing in the world. Jenkins sat at a table where he could watch the bunch from the Trib and after they left, he just walked over to the table – beating the busboy, by the way – and picked up Bayner's beer glass and put it in an evidence bag. Well, he had to show the waitress and the manager his badge, of course." He chuckled. "They didn't even bat an eye that it was a San Francisco badge – they couldn't care less. They even let Jenkins take his knife and fork!"

# # # # #

"How's your head?"

"Very funny," came the dry reply over the phone. "My head is just fine, thank you. I think I only drank about two full glasses the entire day, you know. It was climbing the stairs over and over again to get that case up to the house that did me in. I actually slept until almost 9." Mike chuckled warmly. "So anything new this morning?"

Laughing gently, Steve leaned forward over his desk, the black receiver in his left fingers, the file open in front of him. "Lots actually. Lee got Bayner's fingerprints over the weekend. I finally got some stuff on Bayner's background and his years in Palm Springs. I'm just starting to go through it. Then Lee, Bill and I are going to get together later today and see what we have."

"What are you thinking?" Mike's enthusiasm was palpable. Steve chuckled to himself.

"Well, from what we've got so far, and what I hope we get today, I'm thinking Bayner's in this up to his ass right now, but by the time we're finished, I hope he's in it up to his eyeballs. Then I want to bring him in for a little Q and A. And if he shows any reluctance, then hopefully we'll have enough to go to Gerry and get a warrant. Then he won't have a choice, right?" He glanced at his watch. "Listen, ah, if I finish at a decent hour tonight, I'll drop by and give you a face-to-face briefing, how does that sound?"

He could hear the older man sigh disappointedly. "Yeah, you're right… you've got work to do. Hey, ah, do you have anything for me to do? Any more phone calls I can make?"

"Ah, nothing right now, I'm afraid, but we might have something for you later this afternoon. I'll give you a call if we do, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks. Okay, well, I'll let you go. Talk to you later."

"Yeah, will do. Bye." Steve hung up the receiver and stared at the phone for several seconds. It had been a wonderfully relaxing day yesterday and it had done him a lot of good to get away. But it had been just as important for Mike, who he knew was feeling isolated as he recovered. And it was always difficult to have to surrender a case you had started, especially through no fault of your own. He would try to find something he could delegate to his partner, just so he felt he was still a part of the team.

# # # # #

It didn't take long to find what he was looking for and when he did he actually sat back, shaking his head and snorting dryly. "Son-of-a-bitch," he mumbled under his breath.

Several heads swiveled in his direction. Tanner, typing up a report, glanced over, then got up slowly and approached Steve's desk. "What have you got?"

Looking up with a grin, Steve raised his eyebrows. "Not quite the smoking gun but we're getting pretty damn close. It seems our Mr. Martin Bayner went to the same Palm Springs high school as our Mr. Goodman and Ms. Rochford. He was a year ahead of them but I'd say chances are good they at least had a nodding acquaintance, wouldn't you say?"

Tanner nodded slowly as he sat in the guest chair. "Oh yeah. I had a crush on a girl that was two years behind me in high school. My mother thought it was scandalous," he chuckled. "I always regretted telling her… Anyway, nothing came of it; she only had eyes for this dude in her class, she never even looked at me…"

Steve laughed. "My crush was a girl a year ahead of me… guess I've always had a thing for older women." He fixed Tanner with a stare. "Don't you dare tell Mike."

The black detective raised both hands in mock surrender. "My lips are sealed." He leaned forward and dropped his hands. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"Well, how about you give Rochford's family a call again… the ones you know'll be honest with you so you might want to pass on her parents, right? Like those cousins? And just ask them if they've heard the name Martin Bayner. Anyway, you know what to ask. Who knows, maybe she mentioned him in passing once or twice if they had something serious back in high school."

"It's worth a shot," Tanner agreed as he got to his feet and headed back to his desk.

Smiling, Steve picked up the phone and dialed a very familiar number. Mike picked it up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"You feel like doing a little work for the San Francisco Police Department?"

There was a startled pause on the other end of the line then a very enthusiastic, "You bet I do! What do you need?"

"Get yourself a pad and pen and I'll tell you."

# # # # #

Steve knocked on the inner office door. Devitt looked up from the report he was reading. "Roy, you got a sec?"

"Sure, yeah, of course," the older grey-haired man waved him in.

Electing to stand, Steve stepped to the corner of the desk, his notebook in his hand. "Listen, ah, we have to get our hands on Carole Goodman's fingerprints… it's getting pretty urgent that we do and we're stumped. Her prints aren't on file anywhere that we can find."

"So what are you thinking?" the captain asked, knowing the savvy young detective would not come to him without a plan.

Steve smiled. "Well, I think right now that our only chance is from the Goodman house in Palm Springs. I mean, obviously his prints are going to be all over the place but hers should be too, right, in places like the bathroom and bedroom so we should be able to narrow it down to get a few good prints, wouldn't you say?"

Devitt nodded with a facial shrug. "Yeah, that makes sense…"

"Great, so can you do me a favour as, you know, a captain and interim head of Homicide…?" he smiled beseechingly. "Can you call this number," he turned the notebook around and held it out for Devitt to copy, "and ask them to get their lab boys to do that for us? Just ask them to get a bunch of prints from the bedroom and bathroom and send them up and we can separate his from, hopefully, hers…?"

Impressed with the initiative and enthusiasm, which he found so reminiscent of the man he was temporary replacing, Devitt wrote down the number then picked up the receiver of the black desk phone.

Steve grinned all the way back to his desk.


	64. Chapter 64

Captain Devitt stuck his head out of the office. "I talked to the Chief of Police in Palm Springs and told him all I could about what's going on up here and he's sending two of their lab people to Goodman's house this afternoon. They're going to send any results they get up to us by UPS either tonight, if they get it done, or first thing tomorrow morning so we should get it sometime tomorrow afternoon at the latest." He grinned. "That good enough for you?"

Steve, who hadn't moved while his boss was talking, nodded vigorously. "Yeah, that's perfect. Thanks."

The captain nodded once. "Anything else?"

Shaking his head, Steve gestured to the pad on the desk in front of him. "Nope, I'm just putting together everything fresh we got today, then Bill and Lee and I are going to put our heads together and see if we have enough to bring Bayner in for questioning tomorrow."

"Okay, well, keep me in the loop."

"Definitely."

With a nod, Devitt stepped back into the office and closed the door. Steve's gaze briefly fell on the _Lt. Michael Stone_ in black letters on the glass door and his heart skipped a little beat; as much as he liked Roy Devitt, he really wanted his partner back.

The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up with his right hand before transferring the receiver to the fingers of his left, grabbing the pen and moving the pad closer so he could start writing. "Homicide, Keller."

"Steve, it's me, I got something."

"Jeez," the younger man chuckled, "were your ears burning?"

"What?"

"Never mind. What have you got?"

"Okay…" Mike sounded a little confused. "So, ah, I got ahold of the principal and three of the teachers. The principal was no help but two of the teachers remembered Carole Rochford and Matthew Goodman being together almost from the moment they met… which jibes with what the neighbors said about them, right?"

"Yeah… but that's no help, is it? We already knew they were high school sweethearts."

"Yeah, I know, but it was the third teacher that was the payoff. She said not only did Carole and Martin Bayner know each other, they dated for a short while…"

There was a long pause before Steve echoed, "They dated…?"

"Umh-humh. On the QT of course, because he was older than she was and she was supposed to be going steady with Matthew, the whole school knew that. So they _dated_ on the sly…"

"And by 'dated', am I to take it you mean…?"

"Yeah, all the way to home plate," Mike snorted dryly.

Steve cleared his throat. "So, ah, so how did this teacher know all this?"

"'Cause she caught them in, ah… in flagrante delicto in the shop one night, long after school was out. She was leaving late when she heard a… a _noise_, as she put it. Seems our Ms. Rochford is a bit of a screamer." He paused to let that sink in and was rewarded with a chuckle from his partner.

"What were they doing in the shop?"

"Well, it also seems our Mr. Bayner is a car aficionado from way back – he was restoring a '58 Chevy Impala that his dad owned, and the shop teacher was helping. It was his school project, and as he was a senior, the shop teacher gave him a key. Seems the key only allowed him into the shop and not into the school proper."

"So how did the teacher see them?"

"Well, the shop had one of those steel security doors with that little vertical window…? And she looked through it… She could see them in the back seat of the Impala… Christening it, I guess…" Mike chuckled, feigning innocence, and Steve laughed again.

"And she was sure it was Bayner and Rochford?"

"She'd swear on a stack, she said. And I believe her."

"Okay…" Steve mumbled, trying to catch up with the notes he was taking. He stopped writing and frowned. "Hey, ah, if he was such a car nut when he was in school, how come he needed so much info from that hardware store about what to do to paint a car? I mean, wouldn't he have done that once already when he restored the, ah…" He checked his notes. "The Impala?"

"Yeah, I thought of that too, so I made another call, to the shop teacher. He's still on staff there too and he remembers that Impala very well, he said."

Steve smiled to himself, shaking his head, '_Of course Mike would have thought of that…'_

"And he also said that Bayner didn't finish the car. They ran out of time. By the end of the school year, they still had a lot of bodywork to do on it, so it was towed back to Bayner's parents house and, as far as he knows, it's still there. He said he was sure if Bayner had finished it, it would've brought it around to the school to show everybody so it probably never got finished."

"So he wouldn't've painted it and therefore he didn't know how to paint a car," Steve mused slowly, thinking it through. "You know what that could mean too, right? I think we need to find out if that Impala is still at his parents place in Palm Springs, or did he bring it with him up here…? And if that's the car he painted Fathom Blue recently…?"

"Yeah," Mike agreed slowly, "that's a good point. If the Impala is in his garage, and it turns out to be blue, that could throw a real monkey wrench into our theory, now couldn't it?"

"Yeah… Okay, so I've gotta put another call in to the guys down in Palm Springs, and I better do that right away."

"Another call? What else have you asked for?"

He quickly explained to his housebound partner about Devitt's call down south to get the Goodman house dusted for fingerprints.

"That's a great idea. Hope it works. Okay, I'll get off the line, let you make that call. Hey, you still gonna drop by and fill me in on the rest?"

"Yeah, if I get the chance, I'll give it a good try."

"Okay, great. See ya later."

"Hey, Mike," Steve said quickly, knowing the older man was about to hang up. "Ah… thanks. That's, ah, that's a really big help…"

There was a long pause, then he heard a quiet, "You're welcome…" and the line went dead. He hung up slowly with a melancholy smile then flipped open his notebook, finding the page he needed, picked up the receiver again and dialed. "Yes, can I speak to Sergeant Waters, please?... Thank you." He waited, glancing once more at the name on the door of the inner office.

# # # # #

Smiling, Tanner slipped into the guest chair, waiting patiently for several seconds for his colleague to finish making a note then looking up. "What've you got?"

The black detective leaned forward slightly. "Well, I just finished calling the Rochford family members. Bayner's name doesn't ring any bells with the parents – I didn't think it would, and I had to dance around the reason why I was asking…"

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them we were helping the Palm Springs police with a Missing Persons case and I was calling them because I had talked to them already…" He shrugged. "I think they believed me…"

"Good. So what about the cousins?"

"Yeah, that's a little more interesting. One of them never heard of Bayner and doesn't remember Carole saying anything about a guy with that name, but the other cousin said she thinks the name sounds familiar. She says she remembers Carole telling her about this 'older guy' she had a crush on when she was in high school, but she doesn't remember the name."

Steve had raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Humh… that's very interesting. It does line up with what Mike found out."

"Mike?"

"Oh, yeah," Steve chuckled, "I threw him a bone this morning, to give him something to do. I had him call the high school in Palm Springs and talk to some of the teachers." He filled Tanner in on what his partner had uncovered.

"Well, well, well," Tanner chuckled, "that's very interesting. Sounds like we may need to think about getting a search warrant for Bayner's place in Oakland, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded, glancing down at the increasingly longer list on the pad in front of him. "I've been thinking about that too. Listen, ah, Lee is still out with his rookies – I'll let him explain," he interrupted himself when Tanner frowned in confusion, "but when he gets back, let's the three of us get together and see what we have and talk to Roy about going to Gerry. That sound good?"

Tanner nodded. "That sounds great."

# # # # #

"Homicide, Keller."

"Steve?" It was Waters.

"Yeah. Hi, Pete, what've you got?"

"Jeez, you don't waste any time on salutations, do you?" came the warm laugh over the receiver. "Ah, you big city guys…"

Steve chuckled. "Sorry, busy day…"

"Yeah, I know. No problem. So, Charlie and I just swung by Bayner's parents place and the Impala is parked beside the garage, under a big tarp."

"Are you sure it's the Impala?"

"Yeah, pretty sure. Charlie knows his cars and he said he can tell by the size and the shape that it's probably an Impala. Besides, we asked one of the neighbors," he finished with a laugh. Steve joined him. "So how does that help, or hinder, your investigation?"

"Well, it helps, actually." He quickly brought the Palm Springs detective up to speed on the revelations of the past few hours. "We're just waiting now to get those prints from Goodman's house to see where his wife's fingerprints are on the Chevelle, then we'll see where we go from there."

"What do you mean _where_ they are on the Chevelle? It's her husband's car, of course, so it's bound to be covered in her prints."

"Uh yeah, I'm well aware of that, but I have my suspicions about that too. But I don't want to tip my hand just yet… you know, jinx myself…?"

Waters chuckled knowingly. "Yeah, I know exactly what you're talking about. Okay, well, I'll let you go. Good luck and keep us in the loop – and if you need anything else, just ask, okay?"

"You got it. Thanks, Pete." He hung up, made another note, then looked across the bullpen at Lessing's empty desk. He hoped the inspector would return with the news they were waiting to here.

# # # # #

Dressed in dark brown corduroy bellbottoms, a paisley shirt and a leather vest, and wearing oversized dark glasses with purple lenses, Inspector Lee Lessing strolled into the bullpen to the hoots and chuckles of his colleagues. He stood just inside the door and glared at them all with an annoyed smirk. "Okay… okay… get it all out… but I bet none of you woulda mistaken me for a cop, would you?" he challenged with a good-natured growl.

"Your hair's too short," Haseejian jeered from his desk on the far side of the room and everyone laughed.

"My wig's in the car," Lessing shot back as he crossed to Steve's desk and dropped into the guest chair, throwing a victorious glance in the sergeant's direction as he smothered a grin. He looked at his colleague and chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "Hey, it works…"

Steve shrugged with a soft laugh. "I bet it does. So… anything?"

Lessing took a deep breath and shook his head. "Not a thing. We saw Bayner leave the house and come back… for groceries. There's no sign of anyone else living in the house." He raised a forefinger. "However, Jenkins, who was watching the house when Bayner got back from shopping, told me he thinks Bayner bought a little too many groceries for just one person… especially a guy, he said."

"Too many groceries? What does he mean, besides the obvious?"

"Well, he said Bayner put a bag down at the front door to open it with a key and the bag fell over and a bunch of oranges fell out. And Jenkins says – in his opinion, mind you - that a guy living alone would only buy one or two oranges instead of a whole bunch." Lessing raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Steve frowned. "Too many oranges?"

"I'm just saying…"

"Okay… well, I think I might have trouble convincing Gerry to give us a search warrant based on too many oranges…" He chuckled.

The phone on the desk rang and he picked it up quickly, still looking at Lessing with an amused smile. "Homicide, Keller."

"Yeah, Steve, it's me again. Listen, have you heard back from Lee about whether Bayner's living alone or not?"

His eyes shooting automatically to the man in his guest chair, Steve shook his head in amazement. "Ah, no, I mean, yeah, Lee's with me right now. He, ah, he didn't get anything so we're still not sure. Why?"

Mike chuckled. "Well, ah, I have an idea I want to run past you…"


	65. Chapter 65

"How do I look?" Mike stared down at himself, then raised his head with a hopeful smile lighting his strong features.

Steve made a show of looking him up and down then stared into the expectant blue eyes. "You look… religious…?" he shrugged with a soft chuckle.

The older man frowned with a grimace. "Well, I guess that's a compliment…"

Leaning against the inner office door, Roy Devitt snickered. "You really think this is going to work?" he asked skeptically and both partners turned towards him sharply.

"Why wouldn't it?" Mike asked, a tinge of uncertainly in his voice which Steve wasn't sure he had ever heard before.

Devitt raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm joking. You look… kind of unsettling actually. I know I'd head to my basement and hide if you rang my doorbell," he chuckled.

Mike grinned. "That's what I'm counting on." He looked at his partner and nodded, glancing at his watch and then the door. "I told her to meet us here at 4." It was ten after.

Steve nodded, looking at his partner once more. Mike was wearing his black suit, the one he usually only broke out for weddings and funerals, and a thin black tie. He was carrying his family Bible in his right hand.

The younger man took a step closer. "You sure you're up for this?" he asked quietly.

Mike's eyes snapped in his direction then he snorted softly and smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just walking door to door, right?"

Steve stared at him for a long second and then nodded once. "Right."

The bullpen door opened and Inspector Irene Martin walked in. She was wearing an ankle-length maroon granny dress dotted with small white flowers, black flats and tortoise shell cat's eye glasses. Her medium-length brown hair was pulled back in a small bun and she was carrying a rather large stack of thin paper booklets.

She smiled at Mike before glancing at the others with a soft shrug. "Sorry I'm a little late but I wanted to get these." She held up the armful of pamphlets; they could see the title _Watchtower _on the top copy.

"Where did you get those on such short notice?" Steve asked, impressed.

"There's a Kingdom Hall near where I live. When I went home to change I stopped in and asked them for some. They were more than willing…" she chuckled.

Steve laughed softly. "You look great."

Mike was staring at her with a confused frown. He gestured vaguely towards her outfit. "You had all that in your closet?"

She looked down at herself then back up at him and cocked her head. "What? You don't like it?" When his frown got deeper, she started to laugh. "I've had this dress for almost ten years, I really had to go digging for it. For a while there, I thought I'd thrown it out."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't," Steve said as he turned to Devitt and the others. "Okay, in case everyone here hasn't already caught on, Mike and Irene are going to canvass Bayner's street over in Oakland as a… Jehovah's Witness couple," he glanced at his partner with an amused smile, "which is all Mike's idea, I want to be clear…" Everyone laughed.

The lieutenant beamed at everyone, taking a small bow, his partner watching him with a grin and shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

"Anyway," Steve continued, "the object is to see if they can suss out whether Bayner is living alone or if, as we all suspect, Carole Goodman is living with him."

"Or even Matthew Goodman himself," Mike offered with raised eyebrows and Steve turned to him, frowning.

After a couple of silent seconds, Steve nodded. "Yeah, we never really gave that idea much thought, did we…?" He shrugged. "Why not?" He turned to the others again. "So anyway, they're going to head over to Oakland in Mike's car – nobody in that neighborhood has seen either that car or either of them, and Bill and I are going to back them up, discreetly," he said pointedly, looking at his partner with raised eyebrows. "We're going to be a few streets away. And Lee and his rookies…" He glanced at Lessing, who nodded. "they're going back there, undercover, and are going to just cruise the neighborhood as well, on bikes and on foot. Sort of a rolling backup…"

Everybody nodded, aware of their assignments.

Steve glanced at his watch. "Okay, let's get going. As it is, it's going to take us forever to get over the bridge." He turned to Mike. "Where are you parked?"

He gestured to his right with his head. "At the side, near the exit."

"Good. We'll get the cars from the garage and meet you there and you can follow us."

"Sound like a plan." Mike turned to his temporary partner and held out his right elbow. "Irene…?" he invited warmly and she took his arm to cross the bullpen and out the door.

Steve and the others followed, chuckling and shaking their heads. It felt good to have Mike back in the office, if only for a little while.

# # # # #

She looked across the front seat as the medium blue sedan crawled through the traffic over the Bay Bridge, smiling to herself. She reached out and laid her hand on Mike's right forearm; both his hands were loosely gripping the bottom of the steering wheel. He glanced over at her and smiled.

"How are you feeling?" she asked and he glanced over again, frowning.

"I'm fine, why?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"Well, I mean… it wasn't that long ago…" she paused and exhaled loudly. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry I didn't come to see you in the hospital a few weeks ago…"

"Oh, ah," he snorted dryly, "don't apologize for that… I mean, I really wasn't even in there for that long…"

"Michael, you were shot in the chest, you were nearly killed," she sounded almost angry at him and he pulled away slightly, his frown deepening.

"Yeah," he said slowly, "and I was lucky and they let me out when I was okay… I'm still okay, just recovering…" he shrugged, not really understanding the reason for her sudden irritation. He glanced at her again, suddenly unsure if his words were having the desired effect.

Staring at him, her melancholic smile was slow to build and her grip on his arm tightened. "I was worried about you," she began quietly then closed her eyes and shook her head sharply. "Bullshit, I was terrified for you… and I was paralyzed… I couldn't make myself go in to see you." She dropped her head and exhaled loudly. "I kept thinking about Don…"

Martin had been partnered with Inspector Don Elliott when he'd been killed in the line of duty several years before and, though she'd returned to the job soon after the murder, that nightmare had stayed with her. Elliott had been shot in the chest in an alley as well; his shooter had been a fleeing bank robber, not a terrified rookie. Elliott had hung on for three days before he succumbed to his injury.

Mike glanced towards her, smiling warmly. "I'm okay, Irene. I really am. Believe me, I wouldn't be here, and Steve wouldn't let me be here, if I wasn't. Okay?" He looked at her again and she nodded, smiling, and squeezed his arm again.

"I'm glad…" she said softly, taking her hand away and turning in the seat to look out the side window so he couldn't see her tears.

# # # # #

With Steve and Tanner in the lead car and Lessing and his rookies pulling up the rear, they finally made it through the worst of the traffic and were heading south on the 880 at a faster clip.

Irene looked across the front seat. "So, ah, just what do you know about Jehovah's Witnesses?" she asked, picking up one of the _Awake!_ magazines.

He glanced down at the pile of publications on the seat. "Me?"

Frowning, she stared at him. "Yeah, you. You're the one that decided this would be our cover… I'm assuming you know something about them, right?"

Staring at the bumper of Steve's car ahead of them, Mike smiled and shook his head. "Nope, don't know a thing. I just know I don't answer the door if I know it's them on the stoop. Although with my stairs those visits are few and far between…" he laughed.

She dropped the pamphlet and sagged, her mouth open. "So what are we going to do if someone actually answers their door and asks us to tell them all about the religion?" she asked incredulously.

Mike glanced briefly in her direction and shrugged with a chuckle. "Well, we're both good Catholics, I thought we could wing it."

"Wing it? Are you serious? You can't… _wing_ a religion you know nothing about… At least I can't." Her voice was rising in pitch and he suddenly realized he was in big trouble, with her.

He shrugged again. "Well, we're probably not going to be there for another twenty minutes or so… Why don't you read through one of those pamphlets and…. I don't know, get a feel for it…?"

She continued to stare at him, at a loss for words, then straightened in the seat and opened the copy of the _Watchtower_, hoping there was something in it that would make her life, for the next couple of hours, a little easier.

He shot her a surreptitious look from the corner of his eye and suppressed a smile.

# # # # #

Mike turned the blue sedan onto Ramsgate and headed up the street towards the circle at the top. He pulled the car to the centre of the circle and stopped, turning off the engine.

Irene looked at him. "You're parking here?"

"Unh-hunh," he nodded as he took the key out of the ignition.

"In the middle of the street?"

"It's allowed," he said, opening the door, picking up the Bible from the seat beside him and starting to get out.

"I know it's allowed," she retorted, opening the passenger side door and turning to put both feet on the pavement before getting out. "But don't you think it makes us a little conspicuous?"

He slammed the door. "That's the point, isn't it? If we make ourselves conspicuous, they won't suspect we're cops, will they?" he pointed out, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry.

She stared at him for a long second, realizing he was right, then leaned back into the car to pick up the armful of booklets. By the time she got her head back out of the car he was beside her and took about half the small plain paper magazines out of her hand. He turned and started towards the sidewalk.

"Aren't you going to lock it?" she asked as he kept walking.

"Why?" he answered, raising his voice only slightly. "We're going to be able to see it from the whole block…" She heard his chuckle; sighing, she shook her head in good-natured exasperation and followed him, jogging slightly to catch up.

As she fell into step beside him, she asked quietly, "Which one is Bayner's?"

"Steve said it's fourth from the road on the far side," he answered, keeping his eyes straight ahead. She was doing the same.

"So what's the plan?"

"Well, I was thinking we go all the way to the end of the street on this side then work our way up and around the circle and down the other side. That way we get to spend longer on the street and we can keep an eye on Bayner's house while we do. You agree?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "I agree." She chuckled. "Good plan, Lieutenant."

"Shouldn't you be calling me 'Brother Michael', Sister Irene?" he asked with a mischievous smile.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think that's the way they do it. I think that's Amish maybe…"

"Oh… Well, what else did you learn in your crash course? Be brief, we only have five houses till we ring our first doorbell."

She snorted. "Well, they think that Armageddon is on the horizon, they don't join the military and they don't believe in blood transfusions. They don't celebrate Christmas, Easter or birthdays or any other pagan holidays."

Mike's face began to crumble and he moaned. "Jeez, that sounds horrible. So what _do _they believe in?"

"Well, they have their own Bible, so you might not want to be too obvious with that one," she continued, gesturing with her head towards the one in his hand.

He looked at her with a frown, turning his Bible so the front was against his hip as they reached the first house and started up the short driveway to the L-shaped walkway leading to the maroon front door. Standing on the small stoop, they exchanged a nervous smile before he rang the doorbell.


	66. Chapter 66

They waited for about thirty seconds before Mike pressed the doorbell a second time. Again there was nothing but silence.

Irene looked at him. "How man times do you think we should ring before we leave?"

Mike shrugged. "I don't know… three…?"

She nodded sharply, looking at the door again. "That sounds about right."

He sighed loudly, reaching out to press the bell one more time. "I think if we pushed it to four, someone's bound to come out shooting… I think I would…" he chuckled.

She closed her eyes. "Please don't joke about that…" she said quietly and he froze momentarily before turning to her, a stricken look on his face.

"Oh, god, Irene, I'm sorry… I just, ah, I just wasn't thinking…" He looked back at the door again, hanging his head slightly.

She reached out to grip his forearm comfortingly and he nodded softly. He exhaled loudly then turned to her with his eyebrows raised. "I don't think anybody's home," he said lightly with a smile and she nodded, looking at him affectionately. "Shall we?" He gestured towards the sidewalk and they made their way slowly down the walkway, both of them surreptitiously casting glances towards the Bayner residence.

"Nice neighborhood," she said, looking around casually as they sauntered down the sidewalk towards the next house.

"Yeah, if you like living in Oakland," Mike chuckled and she playfully swatted him.

"Spoken like a true San Franciscan."

"You're damn right…"

They had reached the driveway of the second house. As they turned and started up, there was an almost imperceptible movement of the sheer curtains in the front window. "Did you see that?" Mike mumbled under his breath, keeping his eyes on the front door.

"Sure did," Irene whispered back. "Guess we're not going to find any success here either."

Mike's soft chuckle didn't show on his placid expression as they stepped onto the landing and he reached up to press the doorbell.

# # # # #

"Jeez, I'm beginning to understand how horrible a door-to-door salesman's life is," Mike grumbled as they approached their fifth house. So far no one had been home or had opened the door. "I think I'm starting to identify with Willy Loman."

Irene chuckled softly.

They both turned when they heard the sound of a bicycle coming up the street from behind. It shot past them quickly, the ginger-haired young man eyeing them suspiciously before circling the blue car parked at the end of the street then starting back towards them. Mike threw him a confrontational glare as he sped by them again and disappeared around the corner.

"What was that all about?" Irene asked softly.

Trying not to smile, Mike glanced at her briefly before starting towards the house. "He's one of ours."

She hesitated for a split second, dropping behind him momentarily then taking a longer step to catch up. "What do you mean he's one of ours?"

As he rang the doorbell, he looked back at her. "He's one of Lessing's rookies. I'll fill you in later." He was just turning back to the door when it opened suddenly and a heavyset middle-aged redhead, drying her hands on the apron around her waist, appeared.

"What're you selling?" she growled without preamble, her automatic smile mutating into a skeptical frown.

Startled, Mike reflexively took a half-step backwards. "Ah…" he mumbled, "uhm…."

Glancing at him quickly, Irene took a step forward and held out a copy of the _Watchtower._ She smiled gracefully. "Hello, this is Michael and I'm Irene. We're Jehovah's Witnesses and we'd like to talk to you today about what the church has to offer people in this age of sin and false prophets. Do you have some time to talk?"

The woman, whose jaw had dropped open, blinked several times before she shook her head, taking a couple of steps back into the house and slamming the door in one quick move.

Irene turned to Mike. "Well, that was smooth," she chided as she turned and started back down the walk. After a couple of stunned seconds, he followed, catching up to her on the sidewalk.

"Wow…" he said quietly, looking straight ahead and avoiding her sidelong stare. "Wow… I was not expecting that…"

"Obviously," she chuckled warmly.

"It's a good thing you read that pamphlet, right? Uh, thanks for saving my bacon back there…" He was still shaking his head in disbelief. "I think I've been in gunfights that have been less frightening…"

Her chuckle turned into a laugh. "You sure you're up to this?"

He looked at her guiltily. "Physically, yes… mentally, I'm not sure anymore…" He snorted. "Well, at least I know what to say now… thanks to you." He nodded once with a grateful smile.

She took a step closer, brushing up against him slightly but not so obviously as to seem anything more than just someone losing their balance momentarily. But he knew better, and he appreciated the gesture.

He glanced around them again. There were fifteen houses on the dead-end street; they were a third of the way through and so far they'd made no progress. A couple of cars had turned onto the street, disappearing into garages so they knew people were coming home after work. But so far there was no sign of life at the Bayner house.

They had reached their next target, the first house on the circle, and were just about to head up the walkway when the sound of a small motor caught their attention. Both of them turned to look over their shoulders; the Bayner garage door was opening. Trying not to be obvious, Mike sunk to one knee, setting the Bible and stack of booklets he was carrying on the sidewalk and pretending to tie his shoe. He stared at the Bayner house from under his lowered brow.

The yellow Mustang was being backed down the driveway; for a few seconds, he could see into the garage. It was ridiculously empty, he thought, remembering other garages he had seen in his lifetime, most so cluttered that the cars had to be left outside. This one was big enough, and empty enough, to easily paint a car in, he thought.

As the Mustang started down the street and the garage door closed automatically, he got to his feet and crossed swiftly to his car, which was now only yards away. He yanked open the passenger side door and reached under the seat. He crouched beside the car, using the open door as a cover, pulled out a walkie-talkie and pressed the Talk button.

"Steve?"

There was a click then the tinny voice of his partner. "Yeah, Mike?"

"He's on the move, the yellow Mustang. Turning left on Darwin."

"We're on it."

He slipped the walkie-talkie back under the front seat, stood up and closed the door, then strolled casually back to where Irene was waiting on the sidewalk. He picked up the Bible and booklets from the sidewalk and smiled at her. "Steve's on it," he said quietly and she nodded.

"What do you want to do?"

He glanced down the street. "I want to keep going. I think we need to ring Bayner's doorbell and see if there's any movement in the house or… if we're really lucky, someone answers… Wouldn't that be nice?" he asked rhetorically with a chuckle and she smiled.

Fortunately no one answered the bell at the next five homes, although they were pretty sure some people were just hiding. Mike breathed a sigh of relief when they started to walk away from the house next to the Bayner residence. Irene chuckled and touched his hand lightly as they turned onto the sidewalk and started down the street.

Now that they were approaching the house in question they could study it a little closer. It was, as Steve had described, a well-kept beige stucco bungalow with no outstanding features whatsoever. The curtains were drawn across the large living room window but open in the smaller front window that they assumed was a bedroom.

Every sense on full alert, their highly trained eyes didn't miss a thing as they casually strolled up the driveway and turned onto the path leading to the front door, just as they had done at every house on the block so far. Stepping up onto the small landing, Mike pressed the doorbell then glanced at Irene. Her head was turned away slightly and he knew she was looking peripherally at the bedroom window.

They were both standing very still, straining to hear any sound that might come from inside or behind the house. There was nothing. Suddenly Irene stiffened slightly, her head moving almost imperceptibly towards the bedroom window.

"Did you see something?" Mike asked under his breath and she nodded once, very slightly. He raised his right hand and pushed the doorbell again.

# # # # #

The dark green Galaxie was two cars behind the yellow Mustang going up the Paseo Padre Parkway. Steve glanced across the front seat at Tanner behind the wheel.

"If he turns onto Fremont he's probably heading for the highway."

Tanner nodded. "Yeah, and we're probably going to lose him." He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. "Damn, I wasn't expecting this, were you? Isn't he supposed to be at work?"

Steve nodded with an irritated sigh. "Well, he's going in the right direction. Maybe that _is_ where he's going and he's just starting his shift a little later tonight for some reason…" he postulated.

Tanner shrugged. "Maybe…"

The Mustang pulled into the right lane, the turn signal on, then made the turn onto Fremont. The Galaxie followed at a safe distance.

As both cars approached the 880 on-ramp, Steve said, "If he does go to the Trib, we'll turn around and head back to Ramsgate."

"And if he doesn't?" Tanner asked, skillfully keeping the unmarked police car at a safe distance behind their quarry.

Steve shrugged. "Then we keep on him… I want to know where he's going, don't you?"

Tanner nodded with a smile.

# # # # #

Mike glanced at Irene and smiled reassuringly. "One more time," he said under his breath. He raised his hand to push the button again when they heard a dull thud from the other side of the door and suddenly the knob was turned and it opened.

Mike's eyes widened slightly as he quietly caught his breath, covering quickly with a broad grin.

Martin Bayner was standing in the open doorway.

# # # # #

"So if he turns onto the 238, chances are he's going to the 580 and then up to the Trib, right?" Tanner asked, his eyes glued to the taillights of the Mustang about a hundred yards in front of them.

"Yeah, I'd think so, but we'll follow him right to the parking lot just to be sure."

"Yeah." Tanner pointed ahead down the road. "There's the sign for the 238…"

Steve nodded. The Mustang was in the middle lane. As they got closer to the off ramp, the yellow sports car made no effort to get into the proper lane. Both San Francisco detectives frowned.

"He's not moving over," Tanner said quietly, almost to himself and Steve nodded slowly.

"So he's not going to the Trib by the 238… Into The City maybe…?" he mused out loud and saw Tanner shrug noncommittally. He looked down at the walkie-talkie on the seat beside him and exhaled loudly. As ridiculous as it sounded, he didn't feel comfortable being separated from Mike right now, even though he knew his partner wasn't in any danger. But until Mike was back to work officially, he felt responsible for everything connected to this case and as long Mike was on the streets, under his aegis, the older man's safety and well-being were his primary concern.

As if reading his colleague's mind, Tanner glanced briefly across the front seat and smiled. "Lee and Irene are with him… he'll be okay…"

Steve's head snapped up, startled, then he smiled self-consciously and nodded.

# # # # #

Laughing loudly, Inspector Lee Lessing and rookie patrolman Rolando Jenkins turned the corner onto Ramsgate on their bicycles then slid to a stop. Lessing put his hand out and Jenkins dug into his jeans jacket pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes, handing them to the older man who pulled one out then tossed the pack back. Jenkins took one out as well. Slipping a Zippo out of his jeans pocket, Lessing flipped it open and thumbed the striker, lighting his own cigarette first then holding the flame out for Jenkins.

With a chuckle, Lessing leaned back, snapping the lighter closed and putting it back in his pocket then, the cigarette dangling from his lips, put his hands on the handlebars and starting peddling again, both of them shooting up the street towards the circle and the lone blue sedan parked in the centre.

As they got further down the street, on the pretext of looking over at Jenkins, Lessing glanced towards the Bayner house. Mike and Irene were on the stoop, the door was open, and Martin Bayner was standing in the doorway.

"Oh shit…" Lessing muttered under his breath as his stomach dropped with a sinking feeling; he almost slammed on the brakes but recovered quickly and continued down the street toward Mike's car. Jenkins had glanced over too and his laughter died in his throat. He threw a confused and anxious glance in the inspector's direction as he continued to follow Lessing up the street.

Suddenly, it seemed, no one knew what to do.


	67. Chapter 67

When the yellow Mustang drove past the 23rd Street off-ramp, the last viable exit to get to the Oakland Tribune building, Steve and Tanner were convinced Bayner was on his way to The City. But when the sports car shot past the exit to the Bay Bridge and continued north on the 580, they were more than just puzzled.

They both knew where the 580 ended, and neither of them was particularly enamoured of the possibilities it opened up. It was Tanner who gave voice to the concern. "So, what? You think he's going to Quentin?"

Steve shrugged. "We don't know of anyone he knows that's in Quentin, do we?"

Tanner shook his head. "Nothing that I found, that's for sure."

The traffic north of the bridge exit had thinned out considerably and they had to drop further back to avoid being spotted.

# # # # #

Martin Bayner stared at the two strangers at his front door with a slight smile and raised eyebrows. "Can I help you?" he asked almost pleasantly.

Irene glanced at Mike and they both smiled beatifically, recovering quickly from the shock of Bayner's appearance. "Yes," she began with a warm lilt in her voice, "my name is Irene and this is Michael." She laid a gentle hand on her companion's arm and he beamed at them both, holding out a copy of the _Watchtower_ towards the homeowner. "We're both very proud lifelong members of the Jehovah's Witnesses and we would like to have the opportunity to share the beliefs of our church with you and your wife today, if you both have the time? It won't take –"

Bayner's patient half smile wavered then disappeared altogether. He raised a right forefinger and cocked his head, interrupting Irene's patter smoothly and gently. "Well, I don't have a wife, I'm afraid, and… to be blunt about it, I'm an agnostic, you see…" He smiled mirthlessly, bobbing his head. "So I'm afraid your… pitch would be a little lost on me. Sorry." He began to take a step back.

"That's quite all right," Mike said smoothly, pulling a copy of _Awake! _from the stack under his arm and holding both publications closer to Bayner. "If it's all right, we'd like to leave these with you and, if you care to, you can look them over at your pleasure and convenience."

As if not wanting to be rude, Bayner accepted the offer and took the booklets from Mike's outstretched hand with a soft smile. "Thank you, I just might," he said without rancor.

"Then that's all we can ask," Mike responded with a grin and a nod.

There was a loud, raucous laugh behind them and all three looked quickly towards the circle at the end of the street, where two young black men on bikes were circling Mike's sedan. One of them, the older one, stuck his foot out as he rode around the trunk and kicked the rear fender.

"Hey!" Mike yelled, stepping quickly off the landing and sprinting into the street. "Hey, get away from my car!"

Caught, the two young men stopped circling and headed back down the street, shouting obscenities as they streaked by on either side of the angry white man who was now running up the centre of the road towards them. The younger one shot him the bird as he raced past as, continuing to laugh and curse, they disappeared around the corner.

Irene, who, after making a quick apology to Bayner had run as fast as was prudent towards her irate partner, approached Mike in the middle of the road. He was staring furiously in the direction the young punks had disappeared, breathing heavily and obviously fuming. She reached out to gently touch his arm and he pulled it away angrily, stomping towards his car. He tossed the booklets into the open back window before moving closer to the rear fender to survey the damage. He crouched, rubbing his hand over the paint and shaking his head angrily.

She moved past him to the passenger side door and opened it, getting in without a backwards glance. With a growl, he straightened up, trying to suppress a wince as his injured ribs protested the strenuous activity, rounded the car to the driver's side and got in. As he slammed the door, he glanced surreptitiously across the front seat and whispered, "Is he still at the door?"

She shook her head. "No, he closed it just after you got to the street."

Mike took the key out of his pocket and stuck it in the ignition. He bit his bottom lip to keep from smiling as he started the engine and shifted into Drive. "I've got to have a little talk with Lee. I thought for sure he put a dent in my fender but he didn't leave a mark. I want to find out how he did that," he chuckled as the sedan started slowly down the street and he took another look at the Bayner house.

# # # # #

"There they are," Irene said quickly, pointing to her right. "Down there."

Mike stepped on the brake and turned quickly down the residential sidestreet. Lessing, Clarkson and Jenkins were putting the two bikes into the trunk of the olive green LTD. The blue sedan slid up alongside, Irene smiling at them through the open side window.

Lessing glanced over, his frown turning into a grin when he recognized the inspector. "Nice work," she said with an impressed chuckle as Mike shifted into Park and opened the door, leaving the car running while he stepped out. Laughing, he crossed around the trunk and approached his inspector.

Lessing smiled in relief at his boss, shaking his head in wonder, his eyes wide. "Holy hell! Did you two know Bayner was in the house?"

Mike shook his head, brows raised. "No, we did not," he chuckled as his appreciative eyes slid from Lessing to Jenkins and Clarkson. "Mike Stone," he introduced himself, holding out his right hand; with his left he pointed at Lessing. "I'm, ah, I'm usually his boss. Patrolman Jenkins, isn't it?"

Grinning and nodding, his eyes wide and slightly stunned, Jenkins took Mike's hand and shook it vigorously. "Yes, sir. And, ah, I know who you are, sir. This is my pleasure, believe me," he laughed self-consciously.

Mike nodded at him then looked at the other rookie. "You're… Clarkson, right?"

The baby-faced redhead beamed, shaking Mike's hand. "Yes, sir. Bobby, ah… Robert Clarkson, sir. This is a real honor, Lieutenant."

"The honor is all mine, Patrolman. You two, all three of you, have been doing an amazing job, I've heard. Congratulations. It won't go unrewarded, believe me," he said enigmatically before turning his attention to the inspector again. "You really had me going there for a bit when you kicked my car, but you didn't leave a mark. How'd you do that?"

Chuckling, Lessing shrugged. "Misspent youth…?" He gestured with his chin in the direction of Ramsgate Place. "So, ah, so what do you want to do about Bayner?"

Mike tilted his head. "Well, I'm not authorized to do anything…" he shrugged in frustration, "so it's going to be up to Steve… but I think the bigger question we have to answer right now is – who the hell's driving the Mustang? Who are Steve and Bill tailing right now?"

Lessing reached up and pulled his Afro wig off. "Yeah. Listen, you want to tell them?" He gestured towards the front seat of the LTD.

"Good idea," Mike agreed as he stepped to the driver's side and opened the door.

Irene got out of the car, looking Lessing and the two rookies up and down. She shook her head in wonder and grinned.

Lessing winked at her, chuckling, then suddenly turned to his assistants. "Oh, ah, Patrolmen Jenkins and Clarkson," he pointed at them separately, "this is Inspector Martin from Robbery."

Both mumbling "Ma'am," under their breaths, they shook hands with the rather straight-laced looking inspector, who reassured them. "Don't worry, I don't look like this all the time, just like Mike doesn't always look like a funeral director," she laughed, nodding towards the lieutenant who had crawled into the LTD behind the wheel and picked up the radio mic.

Lessing was putting the bungee cords on the trunk of the LTD to hold it down over the bikes when Mike got out of the car grumbling. "I can't raise them, they must be out of range." He looked at Irene. "Let's head back towards The City, we might be able to pick them up when we get closer to Oakland." His focus turned to Lessing. "Lee, good job. We'll see you back at the Hall. Fellas," he nodded at the rookies, smiling, as he circled his blue sedan and got in behind the wheel.

# # # # #

"_Steve?"_ Mike's voice suddenly sprang out of the radio and the two Homicide detectives started slightly, glancing at each other before Steve reached across his body with his right hand and snagged the mic.

"Yeah, Mike, what's up?"

"_Finally!" _He could hear the relief in his partner's voice. _"You were out of range for awhile there. Are you still following the Mustang?"_

"Yeah, why?"

"_Have you been able to see who's driving?"_

Steve shot another brow-furrowed glance at Tanner, realizing Mike wouldn't be asking if he didn't have a point. "No, we haven't gotten close enough. Why?"

"_Well, it's not Bayner; he's at home."_

There was a beat of silence then Steve said, "What?"

"_Yeah, he answered the door. Don't worry, Irene and I didn't let on. I don't think he's any the wiser. Anyway, we're on our way back to Bryant Street. Do you think you can get close enough without being spotted?"_

Trying to process this new bombshell Steve shook his head as if to clear it. "Ah, I'm not sure. We're heading north on the 580. We've already passed the bridge."

"_Where do you think it's headed? Quentin?"_

"Yeah, we were wondering about that… But don't worry, we'll stay at a safe distance, whoever it is won't see us."

"_Okay, well, see you back at the Hall when you get there. Be careful."_

"We will."

Steve hung up the mic and looked at Tanner with raised eyebrows. They both knew the need to stay as close to the Mustang as possible was now even more critical.

# # # # #

The bright yellow sports car finally pulled off the 580 onto Regatta Blvd., heading into Richmond. Tanner had to let the Galaxie drift back even further to be sure they weren't spotted, making it harder and harder to keep the Mustang in their sights in the sparse traffic.

Up ahead they saw it make a left turn. When they got the corner and managed to turn after waiting through a red light cycle, the yellow car was nowhere to be seen. "Damn!" Steve growled, pounding the dashboard with his right fist. "Just keep going straight and I'll check out the side streets."

Tanner nodded. They continued slowly down the almost deserted street lined with a mixture of businesses, warehouses and residential units, but the Mustang was nowhere to be found. After twenty minutes of futile searching, they reluctantly gave up.

Steve looked at Tanner and shrugged. "Let's head back," he growled in frustration then raised a hand. "Wait, wait, wait," he said quickly and Tanner slammed on the brakes. "Sorry," he chuckled, "I just want to make sure I know exactly where we are. Whoever drove that car here had to come for a reason, right? I want to write down the names of these streets and ask the Richmond PD what businesses or whatever are around here. It could help."

Tanner nodded. "Good idea."

# # # # #

The sun was starting to set by the time they'd all congregated around Steve's desk in the bullpen. After bidding Mike a fond farewell and admonishing him to take care of himself, Irene had headed home; there was nothing she could add to the discussion that Mike didn't already know. It was the same with Lessing's rookies.

Devitt had stayed late to find out what they had managed to discover, if anything, and he was as shocked as everyone that Bayner had opened the door.

"You know, I'm of two minds about him now," Mike said with a heavy sigh. "He obviously thinks he doesn't have anything to hide… I mean, he opened the door to Irene and me without a second thought, it seemed. And, all things considered, he was quite pleasant about it."

"But…?" Steve prompted with a soft anticipatory smile when Mike took a pause.

The older man looked at him with a friendly smirk and a chuckle. "But… we have so much that points in his direction, and that garage of his… It really is big enough to hide a car in and paint it without anyone knowing… so…?"

Steve nodded, looking at the others. "I agree. I want to find out more about him before we approach him for an interview. I want to get Carole Goodman's fingerprints and find out where they are on the car, 'cause I think that's going to tell us something… And I want to find out who was driving the Mustang tonight and where they ended up…"

Everybody nodded. Tanner leaned forward. "I'm going to try to find out if anybody connected to this case works in any of those businesses near where we lost track of the Mustang in Richmond. God only knows if that'll pan out but it's worth a shot."

Nodding, Steve looked at Devitt. "Roy, I think it's going to take us at least another day or so to get enough together before we even think about approaching Gerry for a search warrant. I'd like to keep Jenkins and Clarkson on board to work with Lee… and Mike to bounce ideas off of… Is that okay with you?"

The grey-haired captain looked from the young inspector to the lieutenant, both of whom were looking at him expectantly. He smiled. "I don't see why not." He got to his feet with a chuckle. "But just don't get any ideas, Mike," he winked, "your office is still mine!"


	68. Chapter 68

"Well, I guess I don't need to stop by tonight and give you an update, do I?" Steve said with a smile as everyone began to stand, calling it a night.

Trying not to wince as he got to his feet, Mike bestowed his best smirk upon the younger man with a soft snort. "No, I guess not."

Suddenly frowning, Steve reached out and put his right hand on his partner's elbow. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Mike nodded reassuringly. "Just a little sore. Did a lot of… moving today. The kind I haven't done in a few weeks, you know, like running…" He chuckled softly with a shrug.

"Running? When, and why, were you running?"

Mike sagged slightly. "When Lee and that Jenkins kid were circling my car… menacingly… I had to make it look good, you know…" He shrugged, smiling.

"Menacingly?" Steve smirked. "Lee?"

"He was in character… he even kicked my fender!" Mike sounded slightly outraged but his companion knew it was all an act.

"Right… Lee… Listen, ah, neither of us have had dinner, right? Why don't I follow you and we can stop somewhere on the way to your place and grab a bite. On me… you know, for all that fine work you did today." He grinned. "How does that sound?"

Mike stared at him affectionately for a couple of seconds then nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot." As they turned towards the bullpen door, he felt Steve's hand on his back and a couple of gentle pats. He sighed softly, casting a quick longing glance back towards his office as they walked through the anteroom to the Homicide office door; the look wasn't lost on the younger man, who suppressed his own sad sigh.

# # # # #

"Thanks for letting me, you know, be a part of the team today," Mike said quietly, staring down at his hands wrapped around the coffee cup.

They had enjoyed a steak and baked potato dinner and the waitress had just cleared the table. Steve stared at the top of his partner's head for a long second before he snorted gently. "You don't have to thank me. It's your team, you know that. I'm just… borrowing it for awhile."

Mike looked up, his expression a mix of gratefulness and sad inevitability. "Yeah… but for how long…?" he asked wistfully, and Steve felt his heart constrict. He sat back abruptly, frowning.

"What are you talking about?"

Mike took a deep breath, meeting the suddenly worried green eyes evenly. "I'm not getting any younger… and it's getting harder and harder to bounce back after something like this…" He looked down, swallowing heavily and shaking his head.

Steve leaned forward over the table, his stare hardening. It wasn't like the older man to wallow and he was not going to allow it to continue. "Mike, you were shot in the chest. Anybody's going to have a hard time bouncing back from something like that. And hell, it hasn't even been a month yet, has it? By rights you could still be in the hospital if that bullet had been less than an inch in any other direction…"

Still staring at the cup, Mike began to nod slowly. "You're right…" He looked up and tried a small smile. "It sure felt good today. I could feel the adrenaline shooting through me and I haven't felt that in a long time." He shrugged. "The thrill of the hunt, I guess…"

Chuckling, Steve picked up his cup. "I know exactly what you mean," he acknowledged before taking a sip. As he put the cup down, he stared into his partner's haunted eyes. "Don't worry, there's going to be a lot more days like that… for both of us…"

Smiling wistfully, with a tinge of hope, Mike raised his coffee cup and saluted his best friend. But he couldn't mask the shaking of his hand.

# # # # #

"Listen, ah, I want you to promise me you'll take it easy tomorrow, okay?" Steve implored as they crossed the street in front of the restaurant, heading for their cars.

Mike had fished the keys out of his jacket pocket. "I will, I promise. But there're some phone calls I want to make." He smiled mischievously. "Is that okay, boss?"

Sagging with an exaggerated smirk, Steve harrumphed playfully. "As long as you don't leave the house. What phone calls are you going to make?"

"Ah ah ah," Mike chuckled, opening the driver's door of the blue sedan. "It's a hunch, and you know I don't like sharing my hunches until I'm sure…"

The younger man bobbled his head and rolled his eyes.

"Oh stop that," Mike growled good-naturedly, "you do the same thing." He opened the door. "Hey, ah, thanks again for dinner." He nodded back towards the restaurant.

"You're welcome."

"And, ah, and thanks for, you know, today and, ah, and our little talk just now."

Smiling warmly, Steve reached out and patted the older man's arm. "Anytime, Michael, anytime…"

Swallowing heavily, Mike nodded before he got into the car. Standing beside the LTD, Steve watched him drive away, a melancholy ache in his heart that he knew would take a long time to go away.

# # # # #

Tanner was already in and on the phone when Steve walked into Homicide the next morning. There was a note on his desk: Lessing was going to take Jenkins and Clarkson back over to Ramsgate with the bikes. He had figured, and rightly so Steve concurred, that their presence was no longer an aberration in the small residential community and if by chance they could spot whoever else was living in Bayner's house, so much the better. It was a long shot but it was better than no shot at all.

He glanced at his watch again. He knew the fingerprints were on their way up from Palm Springs by courier but he wasn't sure what time they were due to arrive. With a sigh, he pulled his notebook out of his jacket pocket before taking it off and draping it over the back of the chair. He sat with a sigh; before he did anything else, he wanted to type up his notes from yesterday.

Tanner hung up the phone. The office was only sparsely occupied; Healey and Haseejian were out on their own case and the others were occupied with reports from the looks of it. "I got a list of businesses in that part of Richmond and I'm going to start calling around, see who was open last night. You need anything from me before I start?" he called across the bullpen.

Steve shook his head. "Nothing I can think of right now. Thanks."

Tanner picked up his phone, consulting a list on the desk in front of him, and started dialing. Steve opened his top desk drawer and took a form out, turning to slip it under the roller bar of the manual typewriter on the wing of his desk.

Typing with the fingertips of his left hand was challenging but he had adapted quite quickly and it was no longer the major inconvenience it had been just after it had happened. He was about halfway through his notes when a familiar voice cut through the lulling white noise of typewriters and muted voices. "Well, well, well, isn't this a fancy big building!"

Startled, he looked up to find Peter Waters and Charlie McCann standing in the centre of the bullpen, grinning.

Laughing, Steve turned to them in the chair, shaking his head. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

Waters held up a large brown envelop. "Special delivery," he chuckled, moving closer to the desk to drop it in front of the SFPD inspector. "I know we said we'd send it up by courier but Charlie and I couldn't resist the opportunity to come up here in person and see what life in a big city homicide department is like. Besides, we have the day off so it's kind of a busman's holiday…" he laughed loudly and McCann joined in, nodding vigorously.

"Thank you," Steve said earnestly, picking up the envelope and opening it, letting the print cards slide out onto the desk. There were three. He looked up, frowning.

Waters tilted his head. "Yeah, I know. The lab boys found three sets of prints all over in the Goodman house, especially the bedroom." He nodded at the cards. "One of them is definitely Matthew Goodman, but the other two are unknowns. Now, we're assuming one of them is the wife, of course, but the third…?" He shrugged.

Steve had picked up the two unknown cards and was studying them. When his eyebrows rose slightly, McCann pounced. "Do you think you know who it is?" he asked with an intrigued smile.

The SF inspector looked at him with an unreadable expression then tilted his head with a facial shrug. "I might…" he said slowly with an enigmatic smile.

After staring at him for a couple of silent seconds, the two Palm Springs detectives looked at each other. "You know, I don't think he wants to share with us…" Waters said, pretending to sulk.

"I think you're right," McCann agreed with a deadpan nod.

Rolling his eyes, Steve chuckled. "It's just a hunch, and I don't like to –"

"Share hunches, I know," Waters ended the sentence for him. He gestured quickly between his partner and himself. "We're the same way. I think all cops are, right?"

Steve nodded. "Right." He looked at the cards again. Now that they were in his hand he wanted to get them down to the lab as soon as possible but he also didn't want to be rude.

McCann's gaze had swept the bullpen again and he turned back to the desk, nodding with his head towards the inner office, which was empty. He had noticed the name stenciled on the door. "Mike back at work?"

Steve glanced towards the office. "Ah, no… no, he's still at home. Turns out he tore the cartilage between his already injured ribs when he tackled that Mainard woman down your way. He's going to be out for a couple of months."

Both PS detectives winced, sympathizing. "Ah, man, that's a killer. He must be going crazy not being able to work."

"Well," Steve said slowly, tilting his head and chuckling, "not quite." He suddenly sat up a little straighter. "Hey, ah, are you guys going to stick around for a bit…?"

"You mean now?" McCann asked, frowning. "Hey, it's a long drive from Palm Springs – you think we just came to deliver this then turn around and drive straight back?" He chuckled sardonically. "No no no, we are going avail ourselves of the sights and sounds of your wonderful city, then have ourselves a lovely dinner at the Wharf and then we're going to head back home."

"Yeah, we should be getting back to the Springs as the sun is coming up, I should think." Waters looked at the young inspector with a furrowed brow. "Why?"

Steve grinned and held up his right forefinger. "Give me a second." He picked up the phone and dialed. "Yeah, hey, how are you feeling?... Good, great. So, ah, how do you feel about having me and a couple of visitors over for coffee?... Oh, in about a half hour… No, you don't need to feed anybody -… Okay, that sounds good… No, you'll find out when we get there… Okay. Okay, see you in a bit." He hung up and looked at the two sergeants.

Waters pointed at the phone. "Mike?"

Steve nodded. "I thought I'd take you over to his place so the two of us can fill you in on what's been happening up here, and see if you guys can add anything to what we've already got."

"Does he make good coffee?" McCann asked, frowning.

# # # # #

"So you and another inspector posed as Jehovah's witnesses?" Waters looked at his partner with wide eyes, a chuckle and a shrug. McCann was looking at Mike as if he'd just given birth.

The San Francisco Homicide lieutenant nodded with a grin. "Well, I couldn't think of anything else that'd work on such short notice. And I mean, I know we could've tried pretending to be Mormons but we were both too old to be missionaries," he chuckled self-deprecatingly. "And besides, I was kinda counting on the fact that most people won't open the door if they see two strangers dressed like we were standing on their doorstep." He glanced at Steve. "I was right for the most part… except for a woman who scared the hell out of me," he snorted with a laugh, "and then Bayner."

"That must've been a shock," McCann said with a bewildered shake of his head.

"You bet it was."

"So what did you do?" Water asked.

They were sitting in the bright, sunlit Stone living room, cups of coffee and a plate of Oreo cookies on the small table in front of the couch. Mike had been absolutely delighted when Steve had arrived with the Palm Springs detectives in tow.

"Well –" Mike began when the telephone rang. He reached for the receiver on the side table beside the recliner. "Hello." As he listened, his eyes shot towards his partner. "Yeah, Bill, he's right here." He put his hand over the mouthpiece but Steve was already on his feet.

"I'll take it in the kitchen," he said quickly, disappearing into the other room. He picked up the wall phone receiver. "Yeah, Bill, what've you got?"

He had left Tanner with the print cards, telling him what he needed from Charlie about the location of the prints on the Chevelle and if they could identify one of the two sets of unknown prints.

When he hung up a couple of minutes later, he drifted to the kitchen entrance, waiting until Mike had finished telling Waters and McCann about his unexpected encounter with Bayner to reenter the living room. The older man looked up. "What did Bill have to say?"

Steve looked at the three detectives and smiled. "Bingo."


	69. Chapter 69

After a quick update, and with the promise that he'd meet up with Mike, Waters and McCann at Alioto's on the Wharf at 6 p.m., Steve headed for the SFPD impound yard. Tanner and the print specialist from the crime lab were meeting him there.

They were standing beside the Chevelle when he arrived, jogging into the yard from the parking lot. Nodding at Davies, the lab tech, Steve looked at Tanner with a wide smile. "So the prints on that third card were Bayner's after all, right?" It was like he was asking for a re-confirmation and his colleague laughed, nodding.

"Yep, like I told you over the phone, one set of prints are Bayner's. So, by process of elimination, that third set has to be Mrs. Goodman's, right?"

"Yeah, although until we get confirmation, we'll have to put it in quotes, so to speak. We really need to actually get her fingerprints," Steve grumbled, frowning.

"Well, first we have to find her, right? There's still that open question – who's at Bayner's, Goodman or his wife?"

"Yeah," Steve sighed then turned to Davies. "Okay, Stan, I want you to take me through the prints on this car – the prints that we think belong to Mrs. Goodman."

Davies held up the print card in his latex-gloved hands. "These ones… all right. Well, there's really nothing surprising that these prints are all over the inside of the car. I mean, she _is _the owner's wife. But when you asked me about the steering wheel specifically, well, that started to ring some bells with me."

He stepped closer to the driver's door of the Chevelle and opened it, sitting behind the wheel but not touching it. Steve crossed to the door and leaned in. The steering wheel was covered in black print dust. Davies gestured for him to get even closer.

"So, the most important prints on the wheel are the freshest ones, of course… and we have Mr. Goodman's prints all over the wheel – here, here and here primarily," he pointed to the top and then at the 4 and 8 o'clock positions. "So we can postulate from where these are that he likes to put his hand on top to reverse probably, then hold it at the lower positions when he drives, like a lot of us do."

Steve nodded, brow furrowed in concentration.

"But now this is really interesting." He held up the print card again. "These prints are found mostly between 9 and 10 and 2 and 3, like this." He held his hands up in those positions but not touching the wheel. "Like someone who doesn't drive as often and who still drives the way they were taught."

"Okay…" Steve said slowly, not hearing what he wanted to hear.

Davies glanced up and smiled. "However, I also found 'Mrs. Goodman's'," he used air quotes, "prints at 4 and 8 o'clock – on top of her husbands…" He had dropped his hands to that position again then looked up at Steve with raised eyebrows. "You know what that means, right?"

Staring at the steering wheel, a slight smile grew slowly over the Homicide inspector's face. He straightened up, nodding, and glanced at Tanner. "Yeah, I know exactly what that means. That means that Mrs. Goodman drove this car _after_ her husband, and probably the last time it was driven."

Davies nodded slowly. "Yeah… that's exactly what it means."

# # # # #

"I'm really starting to get an idea of what happened, but I want more solid evidence before I start putting my ass on the line… or Mike'll hand me my head," Steve chuckled as he and Tanner strode into the bullpen.

"I hear ya," the black detective laughed as he crossed to his desk. "I'm still working on the Richmond businesses, got about a dozen left so it shouldn't take too long."

"Good. Thanks." Steve stopped at his desk. There was another note from Lessing: Bayner had taken the Mustang out of the garage and headed to work so he and the rookies were coming back. There was no sign of anyone else in the house, he reported.

With a frustrated growl, he sat, glancing towards the inner office. Devitt was on the phone. He sighed. God he wished Mike was here so they could hash everything over. There were so many unanswered questions and tidbits of evidence; he wanted someone else's eyes to maybe see something he wasn't. Mike was extraordinarily good at that.

He got up and crossed to the inner office door. Devitt glanced up. "Come in, have a seat," he smiled, gesturing to a chair.

Steve shook his head. "No, thanks, too much to do right now, but I just want to put the bug in your ear that I think I want to approach Gerry tomorrow morning and see if we can get him to talk to the D.A. over in Oakland. I want to see if we can get him to issue a search warrant for Martin Bayner's."

Devitt nodded slowly. "You think you have enough?"

Steve shrugged. "Well, I'm pretty sure I have enough to convince Gerry; I know what he wants and needs. But the Oakland D.A. …?" He shrugged again, his face a question.

"Collier," Devitt supplied. "Arlen Collier, I think."

"Right. Anyway, I have no idea how strict he is, so I'm hoping Gerry can help me out with that."

"Oh, I'm sure he can. Listen, ah, I know one of their homicide guys really well, Drake Albanese… you want me to give him a call and ask him is he'd like to be your contact on this. You know you're gonna need somebody over there, right?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I know. I've been in loose contact with Sergeant Brown who found the car for us, but somebody in Homicide would be big help."

Devitt nodded. "I'll give him a call. And Gerry. And I'll let you know. That work for you?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot."

# # # # #

On a yellow legal length pad, Steve had laid out on all that they knew and all that they still needed to find out in stark bullet points. The columns were about even right now, and he found that disturbing. There was still a lot that they needed to get answered before he felt secure enough to approach either D.A. about potential warrants or charges. And it could turn out to be a jurisdictional nightmare if Oakland decided to get temperamental about it. Though the murder had happened in San Francisco, the suspected murderer or murderers lived in Oakland. It was mandatory that both sides of the Bay Bridge remain cordial through it all.

He smiled to himself. He knew Mike had a lifetime of experience being the smooth and professional builder of bridges; if for nothing else, Steve knew he could count on his older partner to be a huge asset if push came to shove between the two jurisdictions.

Someone dropped quickly and heavily into his guest chair and he jumped slightly, looking up and frowning at Tanner and his Cheshire cat grin. "I think I found it."

"You think you found what?"

"Where our Mustang disappeared to the other night."

Steve said up a little straighter. "Where?"

"Well, I was talking one of the businesses near there, an arts supply company. They weren't open that night, of course, but they asked if I was aware of a space in their building that was leased out to a group that holds art classes. Specifically clay sculpture. They have a kiln and everything. Seems they have classes there three nights a week and a bunch of people go. And there's a small underground parking garage nearby that everyone uses now because a couple of months ago a few of their cars got broken into one night parked on the street."

"You don't say," Steve commented with a smile.

"Yeah… anyway, the arts company woman didn't have a name or a number for the guy who runs the sculpture class but she did say that tonight is one of their nights. Starts at 6 and goes till 9. I don't want to tip my hand and go in there like a cop, you know, so I think I'll get there around 5 and hopefully I can catch the teacher before he starts the class and see if he recognizes anybody in our panoply of suspects." He chuckled. "What do you think?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea but… panoply… really…?" He grinned and shook his head.

Tanner roared. "You know, you sounded just like Mike there for a second."

"Thanks," Steve growled, secretly pleased by the comparison. He shook his head again, all business again. "But really, well done, Bill. I don't know about you, but I'm starting to think the pieces are falling into place a little faster now, don't you?"

Tanner nodded, his face alight. "Yeah, all this hard work really is starting to pay off."

"Okay, listen, ah, I've got to meet Mike and the guys from Palm Springs for dinner tonight, pick their brains to see if they think we're heading down the right track here, but I want you to all me if you find out anything concrete tonight, okay? We're going to be a Alioto's at 6."

"Alioto's? What, you get a raise or something?"

Steve laughed. "I wish. No, it was Mike's idea… and he even said he'd spring for it."

Tanner's eyes shot wide and his right hand quickly covered his heart. "You're kidding me, right?"

Laughing, Steve shook his head. "He said he's saved a ton of money by not eating out since… you know," he sobered momentarily then grinned again, "and we owe it to the Palm Springs guys for all the help they've been giving us."

# # # # #

"So," Steve said, picking up his glass to take a sip of the Napa Valley Chardonnay, "not only were Mrs. Goodman's fingerprints found on the steering wheel overtop of her husbands, they were also found on top of his on the back of the rearview mirror."

Waters shook his head. "You know, you'd think if someone was going to… I don't know… conspire to murder someone, you think they'd be smart enough to wear gloves."

"Well," McCann added slowly, "why would she think she'd need gloves…? I mean, it _is _her husband's car after all, so her prints should be all over it, right? So what's to worry…?"

"Yeah, and she probably didn't think that the fact that her prints were on top of her husband's would be something that people would pick up on…" Steve tossed in.

Mike was sitting back, listening and frowning slightly. He looked at his partner. "So what do you think happened?"

Laughing slightly, Steve leaned forward and rested on his forearms, trying not to bang the cast against the table. All three older men were looking at him curiously. "Well, I'm starting to think that Bayner and Mrs. Goodman – okay jeez, let's start calling her Rochford, okay? It's simpler and less confusing."

They all nodded and chuckled.

"Good. So anyway, I think she and Bayner killed Goodman after he murdered Trammel. And I think she's the one living with Bayner in Oakland."

Mike was nodding. "Okay, I'll buy that. But why? I mean, why did they wait till after Goodman murdered Trammel to kill him?"

Steve knew his partner had already formed his own theory but wanted to know what he thought. He snorted softly, looking down. "Well, I think that Goodman and Rochford did love each other… at the beginning and in a way. I mean, not like two lovesick high school sweethearts like the neighbors and her parents said, but in a 'we're randy teenagers with a huge crush on each other' kind of way."

"Well put," Waters agreed with a suggestive chortle and the others looked at him and laughed.

Steve rolled his eyes but pressed on. "From what I… assume, having not met the lady yet… she wasn't the most… monogamous of people. I mean, we know she was _seeing_ Bayner on the sly when they were in high school so that kinda behavior started early. And I have a feeling her tryst with Trammel was probably not the first. It may have been the first that Goodman found out about, which is why he didn't take it so well."

Mike was nodding slowly, liking everything he was hearing so far.

"I think Goodman freaked out when he found out about Trammel and he did what Keyes said he did, threatened Trammel – like what a lot of other people did – and then followed him up here."

"You know," McCann interrupted gently, "there is the possibility Goodman did, maybe in the back of his mind, know what his wife was doing over the years and just chose to ignore it… and then the Trammel betrayal became that proverbial straw that broke the camel's back…?"

The others nodded. "Yeah," Steve agreed, "yeah, that's a possibility for sure."

McCann shook his head quickly. "Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No no," Steve said quickly, laughing, "by all means, this all helps to focus things for me…" He looked at the others and nodded encouragingly, his eyes lingering on Mike, who was staring at him with quiet pride. Suddenly embarrassed, Steve swallowed quickly and cleared his throat. "Ah, so anyway, I think that our Ms. Rochford has been in contact with Bayner through the years… and that this wasn't all just happenstance, with Trammel coming up here, Goodman following and killing him and then them trying to cover it up."

He looked up into Mike's eyes. "I think she and Bayner planned this out, how to use Goodman to get him out of their lives and live happily ever after. And I'm going to prove it."


	70. Chapter 70

"So what do you still need?" Waters asked, leaning forward in the chair as the waiter left with the dirty plates and cutlery.

Steve looked at him with raised eyebrows and tilted his head. "A lot, actually… but top of the list would be tracking down our Mrs. Goodman. I have more than a gut feeling," he shot a quick glance towards his partner, "that she's the one living with Bayner over in Fremont but we can't prove it right at the moment… at least without tipping our hand. And I'm not about to do that as I think both of them are flight risks."

He looked at Mike and older man nodded.

"When I walk up to that door, I want to have a warrant for searching and a warrant for arrest already in my hand, and we're not there yet. But we're very, very close."

McCann looked at his partner then back at Steve. "Listen, ah, Mike told us about what Bayner's street looks like and how hard it is to conduct surveillance on him, especially when you don't know how tight he is with his neighbors… Look, ah, do you want some fresh faces to maybe head over there tomorrow and check everything out…?"

Steve smiled gratefully, shaking his head. "Thanks, Charlie, I appreciate that… more than you can know. But we have enough guys to do whatever we need to do. " He paused briefly. "And, to be perfectly honest, we're stepping on enough toes over there right now with what we've been doing on our own and we'll have to get their cooperation, in both Fremont and Oakland, as well as their D.A., if we want to get those warrants, so…" He shrugged. "But I appreciate the offer more than you can know."

McCann grinned, nodding. "You're welcome."

The waiter arrived with their coffees and conversation died momentarily while they waited patiently for him to leave. Steve was studying his partner, who had been unusually quiet during dinner and was now stirring his coffee with conspicuous intensity. He knew Mike had spent the afternoon, after Waters and McCann had left to do some sightseeing, on the phone. But he had mentioned nothing at all if any of his calls had yielded results; he hadn't even mentioned what those calls had been about.

Mike casually raised his head, putting down the spoon to pick up the cup, and caught the hard stare from across the table. He froze momentarily, the cup halfway to his lips, and smiled slightly before taking a sip. Ignoring the Palm Springs sergeants sitting on either side of them, Steve asked quietly, "So are you going to tell me?"

Mike's eyebrows rose in innocence and his smile got a little wider. "Tell you what?"

Steve tilted his head with an affectionate smirk. "I know you've got something you're dying to tell me, but you've let me take, and keep, the floor tonight… until now. What did you find out today?"

Chuckling, Mike leaned forward, fingering the saucer under the cup and straightening out the teaspoon and napkin.

Waters, who had been watching the exchange like a tennis match, softly cleared his throat. "That's the thing about partners, isn't it?" he said quietly, "You just can't keep things from each other…"

Both San Francisco cops' smiles widened slightly but they didn't move, Mike looking down, Steve staring at the top of his head. A companionable silence stretched out for a few seconds longer before the older man raised his head.

"I, ah, I made some inquiries into Martin Bayner's background. He comes from money, not a lot but enough. His dad was in some kind of high finance business. His parents divorced when he was in high school and Bayner struck out on his own when his dad moved way after the split. His mom stayed in Palm Springs with his sister and he ended up near here over in Fremont. He was estranged from his dad – a disagreement over the war – and he wanted nothing to do with him. Seems the feeling was mutual." He paused briefly, knowing this would ring a bell with his young partner, who hadn't enjoyed a close relationship with his own father for similar reasons. "But it also seems that when the father died a couple of years ago, he left Bayner one thing in his will: a large tract of undeveloped land upstate, near Crescent City."

Mike sat back and allowed his hands to drop into his lap, but his eyes continued to bore into the green ones across the table. Steve had frowned, knowing that Mike wanted him to connect the dots. Suddenly he smiled slightly. "Ha…" he snorted dryly. "The blue tarp and the nylon rope."

Mike nodded slowly. "It's a helluva lot easier to take a body upstate and bury it on undeveloped property than it is to bury one in a small backyard in the middle of a city…"

Both Waters and McCann had started to nod as well.

"Holy hell," Steve said quietly, "so I guess we're talking about making a road trip up to Crescent City…?"

Mike raised his right hand and chuckled. "Whoa there for a second, I'm ahead of you. I also made a call to the Crescent City Police Department and explained the whole… situation to their chief. And tomorrow he and a couple of his deputies are going to head out there and have a look around, talk to some of the neighbors," he shrugged with a chuckle, "to see if they saw anything funny a couple of weeks ago, that kinda thing. I think you should wait to hear from them before high-tailing it up there, don't you? I gave him your number."

Steve had been staring at him with a warm appreciative smile and now he hung his head. None of them noticed the maitre d' approaching the table. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said softly with a slight courteous bow, "is one of you Inspector Keller?"

All eyes at the table went to Steve, who held up his right forefinger. "Yes, that would be me."

"There's a telephone call for you, sir. If you'd like to come with me…?" He took a step back and gestured towards the front entrance.

"Thank you." Nodding at the others, dropping his napkin on the table as he rose, Steve followed the maitre d' across the room. Waters and McCann had barely begun to tell Mike about their tour of Alcatraz that afternoon when the younger man returned. He shrugged and shook his head. "Sorry, fellas, I gotta get out of here." He turned to Mike. "That was Bill. He got a positive I.D. on Carole Rochford at that art class in Richmond."

"Go, go, go," Mike urged. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Steve grinned. "Thanks for dinner." With a quick handshake and a thank you and goodbye to the others, he was gone.

All three older men watched him go. Waters turned slowly back to the table. "That is one very composed, very intelligent, and very personable young man… and a helluva cop." He looked at Mike and smiled. "You know, when I first met you guys in the Springs, I thought, wow, that's a weird partnership. Who the hell put them together…?" He smiled at Mike warmly. "But it all makes sense now, it really does…"

With a self-conscious snort, Mike looked down at the coffee cup in front of him, momentarily unable to talk past the lump in this throat.

# # # # #

The overhead fluorescents were off and the entire office was dark. Steve, Tanner and Lessing were huddled around the desk in the centre of the bullpen, using the banker's lamp that usually sat on Healey's desk. Lessing was still dressed in his undercover wardrobe.

"Okay, well, I think we have enough right now to go to Gerry in the morning, especially with what you found out tonight, Bill," Steve nodded across the desk, "but I'm not sure we can convince the Alameda County D.A.'s office quite yet."

"What, they have higher standards?" Lessing joked and the others laughed.

"Who knows? I just remember I got warned about that once… I can't remember by who but I know it wasn't Mike. Anyway, I'd like to go to Gerry anyway, just to see what he thinks."

"It would be great if we got something from up Crescent City way tomorrow," Tanner mused. "That's a hell of a lead, man. How did Mike come up with that one?"

Steve shook his head and snorted. "I have no idea. Well, he does have the advantage to sitting at home and thinking… which I know he hates. The sitting at home part, not the thinking part." The others chuckled gently.

Tanner shook his head once with a soft exhale. "Well, all things considered, what happened to him could've been a helluva lot worse, couldn't it? He was lucky. _We_ were lucky."

"Yeah," Lessing added softly, looking towards the dark inner office. "This place just isn't the same without him."

"Yeah, well, he's getting there, slowly but surely. And as soon as he can I know he's going to be bugging the doctors to clear him so he can get back." Steve slapped the desk suddenly, breaking the melancholic mood. "Okay, fellas, let's get home and get some sleep. I think things are going to really pick up tomorrow and who knows when we're going to get our next good night's sleep."

# # # # #

"You're in my office, aren't you?"

"Wha-… how can you tell?" Steve asked with a laugh, glancing guiltily around the small dark room and sitting up straighter in the swivel chair.

He heard Mike laugh over the line. "The acoustics – it sounds different than when you're on your own phone. What's up?"

"Well, I just wanted to thank you again for tonight – that was a terrific dinner in every way, and, ah, well, for that Bayner info you got today as well. That opens a whole other avenue for us."

"Well, you're very welcome. The Crescent City thing may not amount to anything but you never know, right? But I have to admit it feels good to be able to contribute, let me tell you."

Steve was about to tell him that he always contributes but he knew it would sound trite, and he also knew it was not something the older man would be comfortable hearing. "I bet it does," he said instead. "Listen, ah, I just wanted to let you know that we've decided we're going to take what we've got so far to Gerry tomorrow morning and see what he thinks. I mean I know we have to get any warrants we want from the Alameda County D.A. but I want to make sure Gerry thinks we have a case before we even approach them. If Gerry doesn't think we have enough for at least a search warrant, then there's no point going over the bridge until we're ready."

"Yeah, you're right about that. Hey, ah, let me know if you do hear from Crescent City tomorrow, will ya? And get yourself a good night's sleep… you were looking a little tired tonight."

"Yeah, well, juggling a lot of balls right now but it's starting to, you know, coalesce. I feel like we're getting a real good handle on it all now."

"Oh, that's for sure. There's no doubt about that. You're doing a terrific job, you know that, right? That office you're sitting in is going to be yours before you know it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the younger man intoned pedantically, leaning over the desk and clearing his throat self-consciously. "Look, ah, you get yourself some sleep too, okay? We need you back here the sooner the better."

"Yeah, I will," Mike said softly. "Good night."

"Good night, Mike." Steve stared at the phone for a long time after he hung up. He sat back slowly and looked around the small, glass-walled office. A lot of memorable moments had happened between these four walls in the years he and its occupant had been partners. As he got slowly to his feet and crossed to the door, he hoped that they would be able to share many more.


	71. Chapter 71

Gerry O'Brien sat back and steepled his fingers in front of his face. Steve and Tanner, sitting across the large wooden desk from him, were leaning forward slightly, holding their breaths and staring at the slightly downturned head of the assistant district attorney.

O'Brien inhaled deeply and lowered his hands. "You've got a lot of circumstantial evidence here… very compelling circumstantial evidence, for sure, but still just circumstantial. And a lot of speculation. I think it's almost there but not quite." He could feel the two inspectors on the other side of the desk deflate slightly. He picked up the piece of paper with the bullet point list of things they had already uncovered.

"Now the things you do have – the receipt for the car paint with Bayner's name on it and the witness I.D.'s of Bayner buying the painting stuff and Mrs. Goodman attending that art class in Richmond, the things like that are solid but the rest… I mean, the lab not being able to confirm that the blue paint on the Chevelle is the kind that was purchased, no I.D. on whoever drove the Chevelle out of the hotel parking lot the night of the murder, nobody actually proving that Mrs. Goodman is living with Bayner or if they've been together at all in the past few weeks…" He sighed heavily and tossed the paper back onto the desk.

Both homicide inspectors were looking at him with defeated frowns.

"Like I said, you've got a really strong circumstantial case here but it doesn't have enough meat on it. Not yet."

Steve nodded, accepting the ADA's professional opinion somewhat reluctantly, though he wasn't completely surprised. "Okay then, ah, what's the main thing we have to do to get this over the top, so to speak?"

"Well, I think the biggest thing would be if you could get confirmation that Mrs. Goodman _is _living with Bayner. If you could prove that beyond a shadow of a doubt, I think you could get both a search and an arrest warrant without too much trouble."

Both Steve and Tanner instantly sat up straighter, as if rejuvenated. "Proof…?" Tanner asked slowly, brows raised.

O'Brien nodded. "Yeah… like a photograph of her in the house or the yard…"

Tanner looked at Steve and both of them sagged again. "Yeah… well, that's not going to be easy. Would a shot of her in the yellow Mustang work?"

The ADA shrugged with a grimace. "It might, but it could also mean she just borrowed it. Placing her in his house would be the cherry on top of the sundae, so to speak."

Steve nodded sharply. "Okay," he turned to his colleague, "well, I guess we know what we have to do now." He got up, reaching across the desk to pick up the file in front of the attorney. "Thanks, Gerry, this has been a big help."

"Sorry I couldn't be more optimistic."

"No no, you really helped. I was thinking we were a little light in the solid evidence department and it's good to know I was right."

O'Brien nodded, then gestured at the young cop's left hand. "Say, ah, when do you get that off?"

Steve held the cast up and tilted his head with a grimace. "I have to go for an x-ray next week to see how it's doing. It feels fine but that doesn't mean anything. I'll sure be glad to get it off though."

"I'll bet. How is Mike doing?"

Steve smiled, straightening up and putting the file under his arm. "Really well. He had a bit of setback a couple of weeks ago with his ribs but he's doing okay. Hopefully we'll get him back to work sooner than they predicted."

"That's good. Tell him I wish him a speedy recovery."

"I will, thanks." Steve turned to leave, Tanner behind him.

"Oh, ah, fellas," O'Brien stopped him, "I'll give my Alameda counterpart a call this afternoon and get him in the loop. If you get anything else, or that proof about Mrs. Goodman, let me know and I'll get the wheels rolling on those warrants for you."

Both inspectors smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Gerry," Steve acknowledged as he led Tanner out the door.

# # # # #

"Well, we tried," Tanner grumbled, trying to sound optimistic as they strode down the corridor towards the stairs. "What do you want to do now?"

"I want to get that photo of Carole Rochford. And I want to get it today." Steve sounded almost angry but Tanner knew the anger was directed inward and not at O'Brien. It was a trait he had seemed to pick up from his partner over the years.

"So… you have any ideas?" Tanner asked tentatively. They had reached the stairwell and were starting down.

The file under his left arm and his right hand on the railing, Steve glanced over his shoulder with a devious smile. "Yeah, I do… That, ah, that pottery class? They don't meet tonight, do they?"

"No, tomorrow."

"That's what I thought. Well, then I need to make a few calls when we get back to the Hall."

# # # # #

"_Sergeant Jamison."_

"Yes, Sergeant, this is Inspector Keller from Homicide. I was wondering if you could tell me if we have any unmarked cars in the pool that have tinted windows?"

"_Tinted windows?"_

"Yeah."

"_Front or back?"_

"Well, both preferably but back if it's only the one."

There was a pause on the other end of the line then, _"Yeah, yeah, we have a Fairlane, light blue, tinted all around. Hasn't been used in a while. Why? You guys need it?"_

"Ah, yeah, today if it's available and ready to go…?"

"_Oh, it's ready to go, all my cars are. I just have to dig it out, so to speak. When do you need it?"_

"In about an hour?"

"_I'll have it gassed up and ready for you. Just check in at the office for the keys."_

"Thank you very much."

# # # # #

"Dear god, I should just ask for a transfer to Homicide," Irene Martin groused good-naturedly as she strode into the bullpen. After nodding at Steve, her eyes snapped to the inner office; Devitt was on the phone.

Steve had caught the glance. "Mike's not here. He's not involved in this one. This is all me."

She looked at him with a warm smile. "I thought it was kind of strange when you called me and not him. Did you at least tell him what's going on?"

Steve shrugged. "No, I haven't talked to him yet…" His eyes narrowed. "Did you call him?"

She winced and a little whimper escaped from her pursed lips. "I might have given him a call after I talked to you…" She tilted her head with a slight apologetic shrug.

Steve closed his eyes and sagged, dropping his head.

"Sorry…" she whispered guiltily and his head came up. He was smiling.

"You don't have to apologize. I should've called him but I don't have anything for him to do and I didn't want him to worry."

"Worry? Why? What are we doing?" she asked rapidly, frowning.

"Nothing dangerous, I assure you. But you know him, right? He worries about everything if he's not involved in it, so I thought –"

"I know what you thought," a loud familiar voice cut through the low babble of the homicide bullpen.

Startled, Steve and Irene turned sharply towards the door as Mike strode up to them. He was wearing a windbreaker, his fedora and a concerned frown.

Steve tried a smile. "Mike –" he began but Irene cut him off. She put a hand on the older man's arm.

"Good to see you again so soon, Michael," she said pleasantly but his eyes hadn't left his partner's face. "Steve needs my help with something and I'm only too glad to be of any assistance I can."

His eyes glancing briefly in her direction, he nodded sharply. "Yeah, you said that over the phone." He focused his blue eyes on Steve again. "And you're right, I do worry about everything when I'm not involved. It's my job to worry. But I'm not here about that. I'm just here to make sure you haven't overlooked anything before you put this plan of yours into action, that's all."

His expression had softened and he was smiling slightly. "Besides, I was getting bored at home again and I needed something to do." Steve opened his mouth but Mike raised both hands. "And before you say anything, I'm not going to insist you let me in on whatever it is you've cooked up here. I just want to – with your permission, of course," he said softly, bowing his head slightly, "hang around the office here until you get back." His eyes shifted to Irene for a split second and then back.

Steve's expression had turned from wariness to relief and he smiled, shaking his head. "I would love to have you hang around until we get back. And, if we're successful, I'll even take the three of us out to dinner. How does that sound?"

Mike's eyes widened. "I'd love that. You?" he looked at Irene and she beamed at them both.

"I never turn down a free meal, not on a cop's salary." She took a step back and gestured down at herself. "Do I pass muster?" she asked Steve. She was wearing a mid-calf brown skirt with a white blouse; her medium-length dark hair was down. She shifted the large black purse from one shoulder to the other, pulling out and slipping on large dark glasses. She looked beautiful.

He looked her up and down and nodded. "Perfect, Mom," he snickered as he turned to his desk and picked up a small flight bag. "I'll be right back." He headed out of the office, leaving Mike staring at Irene with a confused frown.

"Mom?" he mouthed, shaking his head slightly.

She grinned, taking off the dark glasses and putting them back in the purse. "Steve really needs to get a photo of that Mrs. Goodman woman and he's got a great idea to get it. I'm posing as his mother." She shrugged and chuckled.

Mike, looking her up and down slowly, nodded. "Okay… So did he explain to you what this idea is?"

"Not all the details yet. He's a lot like you," she chuckled. "So I'm hoping he fills me in in the car on the way over there."

"Over where?"

"Bayner's, I think. He really didn't go into much detail, like I told you." She brushed up against him and lowered her voice. "I really shouldn't have called you but I thought you knew already."

"That's okay, I'm glad you did. I just hope he doesn't think I'm horning in on his investigation. This one is all his and I want to make sure he knows that."

"But it doesn't stop you from worrying about him, does it?"

He stared at her, frowning, then nodded with a tiny smile.

The corridor door opened and Steve strode back into the room. He stopped just inside the anteroom door and stared at them expectantly. "So? What do you think?"

The older couple studied him expressionlessly. He was wearing light brown corduroy pants a couple of inches too short and a mud-brown sleeveless vest over a mustard-coloured short-sleeved shirt. His left arm was in a large beige cotton sling that covered most of the now dirty, beat up and autographed-covered cast. His Brylcreemed hair was combed straight forward into short bangs and he was wearing a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses.

Mike snorted. "I think you took a wrong turn at Cal Tech."

Irene was grinning. "I think you look perfect, if you're going for a Jerry Lewis-Nutty Professor kind of thing…" she laughed.

Steve beamed. "That's exactly what I'm going for. Do you think someone like this," he gestured down at himself, "would know how to fix a car?"

Mike's head went back slightly. "Is that a legitimate question?"

"Umh-humh," Steve nodded vigorously.

"Well, then, uh… no."

"Good. That's what I'm going for too." He dropped the flight bag on his desk and looked at Irene. "Mom, want to go for a drive with me?"

Glancing up at Mike and grinning, Irene crossed the few yards to the young inspector and took his arm. "You know, if it was anyone else but you calling me that, they'd be picking you up off the floor," she said through her smile and he blanched slightly. "Shall we go?' she continued, almost leading him towards the door.

Steve shot a glance over his shoulder at Mike, who was watching them both with a grin and a chuckle, shaking his head.

After they disappeared through the door, Mike turned to look into his office. Devitt was still on the phone. With a melancholy sigh he took off his windbreaker and draped it over the back of Steve's chair then sat. He glanced at his watch. He didn't know how long it would be until Steve and Irene returned but, however long that was, he would be there when they got back.

Besides, he had nothing else to do.


	72. Chapter 72

"Oh my god, I haven't seen this car in years," Irene chuckled as they approached the light blue Fairlane in the underground garage. Steve had stopped at the car pool office to get the keys and a vehicle manual, and to pick up the third member of their little team, who had been waiting for their arrival.

"You've been in this?" Steve asked with a laugh as he handed her the keys.

Taking them, she crossed behind the trunk to the driver's side. "Oh yes. My old partner and I used this once for a stake-out. I always liked the tinted windows, although it did call attention to itself if I remember correctly."

"Well, it's exactly what we need today," Steve said as he opened the passenger side door. He turned to the slight, blond man about his own age who was wearing a long-sleeved black turtleneck and had a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder. "Dale, you'll be okay till we get over the Bridge and down near Fremont. I'll tell you when to duck, okay?" He laughed genially.

Shaking his head and chuckling, the lab tech got into the back seat. Irene, who had already started the car, looked into the rearview mirror. "Mr. Corey," she said lightly in acknowledgement, laughing.

He looked into the mirror and grinned. "Inspector Martin. It's been awhile."

Steve was settling himself in the front seat, opening the glove compartment to slip the manual inside. "I take it you two know each other."

"Oh yeah," Irene said with a genial leer as she shifted into Drive and the light blue sedan started towards the exit. "Dale has helped me nab many a thief and burglar over the years, haven't you, Dale?"

"I sure have."

"He's been my good luck charm." She chuckled warmly.

"Well, let's hope he's just as lucky today, 'cause we could really use some luck on this case," Steve said optimistically as Irene took the car out of the dark garage into the bright afternoon sunshine.

# # # # #

"_Inspectors 8-1, please respond."_

Steve glanced across the front seat at Irene before he leaned forward, reaching across his body to snag the mic. "Inspectors 8-1. Go ahead."

"_Message from Inspector Lessing. The Mustang is on the road."_

"Thanks, 10-4." He hung up the mic and looked at Irene again. "Okay, so Bayner's on his way to work so there shouldn't be anybody in the house." He shrugged. "It's a nice day, so we've got that in our favor. Let's hope this works."

It was just before the peak of the rush hour traffic and they were crossing the already busy Bay Bridge to head south on the 880 towards the Decoto Road exit into Fremont. Irene nodded. "Well, I think this is a terrific idea, very inventive." She glanced into the rearview mirror. "You all ready for this, Dale."

The lab tech chuckled and held up a black tuque and his Canon F2 with a 300mm lens. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I have two cameras, a whole bag of film… and a lot of patience."

"Well, let's hope you get a chance to use them… well, the first two anyway." Steve sighed heavily from the front seat, watching the buildings fly by on the interstate.

# # # # #

The Fairlane turned off Decoto onto the Paseo Padre Parkway. Steve turned to look into the back seat. "All right, Dale, it's time to duck," he chuckled.

With a broad grin and a nod, Casey pulled the tuque over his blond hair and slid down in the seat

"How's the tinted window working?"

Casey held the camera lens up close to the window and put his eye lightly against the viewfinder, very aware and careful of the bouncing of the car. "It shouldn't be a problem. Which way is the house?"

"You'll be facing southwest… but the sun doesn't set for a few hours yet so we should be okay."

The lab tech nodded. "I don't think it'll be any problem."

Irene glanced across the front seat. "Okay, we're getting closer. How I am supposed to know exactly where to stop?"

"Lee's going to have one of his rookies standing at the side of the road pretending to hitchhike. We're to stop two houses past him so it doesn't look like we're picking him up."

She nodded with a grin. "Very slick. Who thought of that, you or Lee?"

Steve laughed. "That was Lee's idea."

They crossed over Fremont Boulevard. "Okay," Irene said, glancing into the rearview mirror. "We're getting closer. It'll be just around the next bend."

They made the long, sweeping right turn and passed Chaucer Drive. Jenkins, his thumb out, was standing just beyond the intersection. Irene started to brake as Steve glared out the side window, making brief eye contact with the rookie as they passed him. Two houses later, Irene had pulled the car onto the shoulder and turned off the engine.

She and Steve got out, slamming the doors as they both crossed to the front of the car. After throwing an almost angry look in the younger man's direction, Irene reached under the hood and released the latch, pushing the heavy hood up and lifting the strut into place. After brushing the grit off her hands, she stood back and looked at the engine with her fists on her hips and a frown on her face. She turned a hard glare on the younger man again.

Steve took a step back and shrugged helplessly. With an angry growl, she leaned over the engine. "Are we in front of the right house?" she asked sotto voce.

Pretending to look around for help, he glanced over his shoulder. "Perfect. We can see almost all of the backyard."

The car had come to a stop precisely between the two trees in the Bayner backyard and they had a clear, slightly elevated view of the backdoor, patio and most of the grassy lawn. Steve opened the passenger side door and leaned in, opening the glove box. As he pulled the battered and dog-eared manual out, he asked, "Got a good view of the house?"

Casey, who had the Nikon lens close to the tinted glass of the back window, chuckled. "Absolutely perfect. If anyone comes out of that house, or even passes by the window, I've got a clear shot."

"Great," Steve breathed in relief as he pulled himself out of the car, the manual in his right hand. He approached Irene again, holding the book out. She pulled her head out from under the hood and turned to him, feigning anger. As she grabbed the manual then held it up under his nose, looking for all the world like she was berating him, she asked, "We okay here?"

"Dale says it's perfect. Good job."

She tried not to smile. "Thanks."

"Oh, and, ah, just so you know, Roy called the chief over here and told them what we're doing and their patrol cars are not going to stop to ask us if we need any help. So we can hang here as long as it takes." He hung his head, taking the manual back as if he was being reprimanded. "Let's hope it doesn't take too long."

He crossed slowly back to the open passenger door and tossed the manual on the seat. Then he walked to the rear of the car and leaned against the fender, his head down, but looking at the Bayner backyard from under his brow.

Irene, with a final angry glare at the engine, returned to the driver's side and, careful of the passing traffic, got back into the car and slouched behind the wheel. They looked like two people who didn't know how to fix their broken car, which was exactly what Steve had hoped.

# # # # #

About five minutes later, with no sign of life from the Bayner house, Steve pushed himself away from the fender, crossed to the open passenger side door and leaned in. "I'm going to take a walk down to Darwin and see if I can find Lee. It'll make it look like you've sent me off to find help. You okay back there, Dale?"

He heard the light chuckle. "Don't worry about me, Steve… I can do this with my eyes closed… Well, figuratively speaking…"

Both inspectors laughed gently.

"I once had to sit in a dumpster for three hours to get the shot I needed. This is luxury."

Shaking his head, Steve straightened up, looked both ways up and down the busy Parkway and then started off to his right, casting a glance at the Bayner house as he did.

# # # # #

Mike was sitting at Steve's desk, reading through the files of all the cases on the go and the ones that had been closed during his absence. He glanced at his watch and sighed, then ran a hand over his face. He looked up at the bustling bullpen then into his office; Devitt was on the phone again. Almost subconsciously his hand went to his still healing chest wound and he stretched carefully, testing his ribs; they were still a little sore but had greatly improved.

The phone on the desk rang and he started slightly. He glanced around the room then picked up the receiver. "Homicide, Inspector Keller's desk."

"Ah, yes, ah, may I speak to Inspector Keller please?"

"I'm afraid he's not here right now. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Ah, yes, this is Chief Sunderland of the Crescent City Police Department. I was –"

"Chief Sunderland, this is Lieutenant Stone," Mike interrupted smoothly, "I was the one –"

"Yes, yes of course, Mike. I wasn't expecting you to answer the phone."

"I wasn't expecting to be here," Mike laughed. "My partner's been called away and I just happened to be sitting at his desk."

"Well, I'm glad you are," came the deep voice over the line. "So about that Bayner property…"

"Yes?" Mike said, sitting at attention, picking up a pen and pulling a pad closer.

"I took a couple of deputies with me and went out there this morning. You know, of course, that we couldn't go onto the property without a warrant, whether the owner is on site or not…"

"Of course."

"But there are some neighbors who aren't too far away and actually have a pretty good view of the one entrance onto the property. A lot of the property is tree-covered and the visibility from the road is very limited."

Mike had begun to lose hope and his shoulders sagged slightly.

"However, one of the neighbors thought they heard a vehicle approaching one night a few weeks ago. Now they can't confirm it was Bayner's vehicle 'cause they didn't see it, and they can't be precise what night it was, but they remembered it was about 2 in the morning 'cause they were up with a sick kid and it was unusual for there to be any traffic on that road at that time of night. It's pretty isolated."

Mike was making notes. "There's no way they can remember what night it was, can they? Not even with a little prodding…?"

Sunderland snorted. "We tried, believe me. They do have it narrowed down to three nights at the end of June – the 28 to the 30th. Does that help?"

Mike smiled. "Yes, it does…" he chuckled lightly. "Thank you very much, Fred –"

"Well, that's not all," Sunderland interrupted. "My deputies and I headed back over to the place after we talked to the neighbor and though we didn't go in, we had a look at the entrance near the road. We had an unusually large amount of rain up here at the end of June and there was a lot of mud. There are two very distinct sets of tire tracks in the dried mud going in and out of the Bayner property. The sets are identical – one going in, it looks like, and one coming out. And they were made pretty close together time-wise, possibly within hours. At least that's what our lab guy says."

Mike, who had been holding his breath, released it in a rush. "Did you -?"

"Take photos? You bet we did. And he's doing plaster molds as we speak. If you give me your fax number, I can you send you photocopies of our photos of the tracks right away, and then we'll send the real print photos, photos of the plaster molds and the schematics to you by courier first thing in the morning. How does that sound?"

Mike laughed. "That sounds perfect, Chief. I don't know how to begin to thank you."

"Don't worry about thanking us, Mike, let's just hope that you guys are right and Bayner did bury a body up here."

"Yeah. Okay, so, ah, let me get the wheels rolling down here and we'll get our ADA to get in touch with your D.A. and if we have enough to convince both of them, we'll try to get you guys a search warrant."

"That sounds great. Glad we can be of help. Say, ah, when we do get that warrant, do you –?"

"Want to be there when you serve it? You're damn right I do," Mike laughed and he heard the Crescent City chief laugh as well.

"I kinda thought so. Anyway, I'll fax those photos to you right away and you keep me in the loop, okay?"

"You better believe it." Mike found the Homicide fax number and read it out to the Crescent City police chief, then ended the call. He hung up and sat back, glancing at the notes he had made on the pad then he grinned and laughed softly to himself. Across the room, he could hear the fax machine starting up.


	73. Chapter 73

Steve found Lessing sitting in his car several streets over, on a through-street parallel to Ramsgate. There was one bike in the open trunk. The black detective's face split into a wide grin when he finally figured out who the geeky looking guy walking towards him actually was. "Oh my god," he chortled, trying not to choke as he laughed quietly, not wanting to call attention to himself on the quiet residential street.

"So it works… great!" Steve slid into the passenger seat, shaking his head and laughing as he looked his undercover colleague up and down. "We make quite a pair."

"We sure do. So, you guys all set out there?"

"Perfectly positioned. Putting Jenkins on the corner was a great idea."

"It was his. That kid's gonna go far. Do you know where he went?"

Steve shook his head, frowning. "No, he hasn't made it back here yet?"

It was Lessing's turn to shake his head. "No, but knowing him, he's taking the long way around. Clarkson's out on his bike in the neighborhood somewhere. I think he's going up and down all the streets so that when he goes up Ramsgate it won't be 'out of character', as he put it."

Steve chuckled again. "Man, I really hope we get something today. I'm getting frustrated just tickling the edges of what went down. Aren't you?" He looked across the seat and frowned.

Lessing nodded with a heavy sigh. "You bet I am." He glanced into the rearview mirror. "Here comes Jenkins."

"Good. I better start heading back, see if Irene and Dale got anything yet." He climbed out of the car as the rookie approached. The young cop in the Afro wig took a quick step back, frowning.

Steve smiled. "It's me, Jenkins… Inspector Keller…"

"Whoa man, you look awesome… those are some wicked threads…"

With a little half-bow, Steve laughed. "Why thank you. Hey, ah, great work back there on the road. We're in a perfect position." He started down the street. "See you guys back at the Hall," he called over his shoulder.

# # # # #

"What've you got there?" Devitt asked, looking at the black-and-white images on the thermal fax papers laid out on Steve's desk.

Mike glanced up over his shoulder. "Oh, ah, tire prints from outside Bayner's property upstate."

Devitt picked one of them up and studied it a little closer. "I know you're busy so I won't ask you how you got these… at least not just yet anyway… but well done," he finished with a grin, laying the paper back on the desk carefully so as not to smudge the image. "By the way, I thought you were just going to sit here quietly and wait for Steve and Irene to get back. You _are_ still on sick leave, remember?"

Tilting his head and bestowing his patented annoyed look on the smiling captain, Mike sighed. "I'm just making phone calls, Roy. I promise I won't do anything more physically challenging than that."

Devitt nodded with a low growl. "I'll hold you to that." He started back to the inner office. "Oh, and I'll expect a full report from you and your partner at the end of the day, all right?" He stopped at the door and looked back. A soft smile appeared. "It's good to have you back in the office, Mike." He stepped quickly into the small room, closing the door behind him.

Momentarily stunned, Mike stared at the closed door, his eyes dropping the his name on the glass, then looked back at the papers on the desk, swallowing heavily. It was several seconds before he could concentrate on the photos in front of him again.

# # # # #

Irene was leaning against the right front fender of the Fairlane, wearing dark glasses and smoking a cigarette, when Steve approached along the shoulder of the Parkway. He could see she was using the action to cast surreptitious glances towards the Bayner backyard, a ploy that seemed to be working very well.

His head was down when he finally got to her, hopefully looking defeated and browbeaten. "Anything yet?" he asked sotto voce.

She glanced at him sharply, with an angry shake of her head, then looked away again. "Not yet, but Dale said he thought he saw some movement in the living room so he's on high alert. That's why I'm out here." She dropped the cigarette to the gravel and trod on it with her toe.

"I didn't think you smoked?" His curiosity was getting the better of him.

"I don't… now. I used to… years ago."

Steve turned away, positioning himself in front of the car to look at the engine. "Just don't start again, okay? Both of us would have to answer to Mike and I don't like our chances…" He chuckled softly and she joined in, turning away from the car and starting to walk up the Parkway in the opposite direction that he had gone.

"I'm going to see if _I_ can find anyone that can help, you useless…!" she yelled over her shoulder, in case anyone could hear her, she hoped.

# # # # #

Fifteen minutes later, Steve was sitting sideways on the passenger seat, the door open and his feet on the gravel shoulder. He was leaning against the seat, head down, supposedly in a funk but watching the Bayner backyard from under his lowered brow. He couldn't see very well but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

He sighed loudly. This brilliant idea of his was turning into a bust, he reluctantly admitted to himself. He would wait until Irene returned and then he would pull the plug and let everyone go home.

"I've got movement," Casey said abruptly and it was all Steve could do not to react.

He raised his head and looked down the parkway in the direction Irene had gone. "What?" he asked quietly.

"I can see something, like a shadow or something, moving in what I assume is the kitchen."

"A person?"

"I'm not sure."

Steve could hear two clicks of the shutter button. "Got anything?"

"Not really sure."

There was a lull in the roar of the traffic speeding past them and he thought he could hear the sound of a door opening from the direction of the house. It took all of his training not to look; he could hear several more shots being taken.

"Someone's coming out of the house," Casey said smoothly and softly, his words punctuated by more shutter clicks.

Trying to look casual, Steve put his right hand on the doorframe of the Fairlane and pushed himself to his feet, glancing into the Bayner backyard as he did so. He could see a dark-haired woman step through the screen door onto the patio. She seemed to be holding something in one hand. More shots were taken then there was a pause.

"Changing cameras," Casey said into the brief silence; another quick series of clicks followed his words.

Steve walked to the front of the car and stared at the engine again. He took a sidelong look at the house, in time to see the back door open and the woman disappear inside. The shutter clicks from inside the car stopped. He crossed around the car to the driver's side, opening the door carefully and sliding in behind the wheel. He put his hand on the key so it looked like he was trying to turn the engine over and looked into the rearview mirror.

Casey had turned so he was lying on his back, and he was grinning. "Got it…" he said with a deep chuckle, raising the camera lying on his chest slightly. "She was taking the garbage out. I got some good facial shots, so if it's the woman you're looking for, we're gold…"

Steve exhaled loudly and shook his head. "I couldn't get a good look so I'm not sure if it's her but…" He chuckled in relief. "Great job." He looked into the rearview mirror again, this time looking through the window at the road, hoping to see Irene returning to the car. "Well, as soon as Inspector Martin gets back, we'll get out of here. How long after we get back to the Hall for you to get those prints for us?"

"An hour."

Steve was nodding to himself. "Good… good…" He pounded his right fist lightly against the steering wheel, obviously having a bit of trouble containing his relief. "Yes…"

# # # # #

The Homicide office door slammed open as Steve and Irene fairly charged into the room. It was abundantly evident to everyone in the bullpen that their little excursion across the bridge had paid dividends.

Steve, who had shed the vest, glasses and sling, and had brushed his hair as back to normal as he could with all the gel in it, stopped in front of his own desk and grinned down at his partner, who was sitting back in the chair and watching him with arms crossed and a warm but curious smile.

"Am I to take it you were successful?" Mike asked with a chuckle, his dancing blue eyes taking in a beaming Irene as well.

"You can and you should," she laughed, looking at Steve with unabashed affection and pride and Mike frowned slightly.

"So, ah, so you _did _get a picture of our elusive Mrs. Goodman?" he asked slowly, looking from one to the other.

Steve glanced at Irene, grinning, and exhaled loudly. "Well, we think so. Dale's processing the film now."

"Dale Casey?" Mike asked. "The crime scene photographer?"

Devitt had wandered out from the inner office and was watching the exchange with interest as both Irene and Steve nodded. "So are you finally going to tell us all what you guys were doing over there today?" he asked, plopping himself down on the edge of Steve's desk and leaning forward slightly. "I mean, you know, as your boss…" He glanced over his shoulder at Mike. "… temporarily…" They all laughed as Mike nodded with a raised eyebrows and a broad, close-mouthed grin. "…I really should know what you guys were doing today, you know, in case anybody asks…?" Devitt finished, pointing towards the ceiling.

Steve chuckled and looked at Irene. She nodded, putting her hand lightly on his arm. "I'll leave the explanations to you. I have to get back to my own division before they think I really have put in for that transfer." She kissed a startled Steve on the cheek then turned to leave with a, "Thank you, son, that was a really fun day." She winked at Mike as she crossed to the door.

"Son…?" Devitt whispered to the lieutenant as they watched Irene disappear into the bustling corridor after tossing them an insouciant wave.

"Yeah…" Mike said slowly, sounding a little confused himself as he looked at his grinning partner again. "You might want to explain that to Roy," he advised pointedly and Steve laughed, nodding.

"Is it a long story?" Devitt asked, looking from one partner to the other and they both shrugged. "Okay, in that case, why don't we take it down to the cafeteria and I'll buy us some decent coffee."

Mike looked at Steve with raised eyebrows; the younger man nodded. "That works for me."

# # # # #

It was slightly more than a half hour later when the three detectives walked through the Homicide Bureau door again, crossing to the centre of the bullpen. The thermal paper photos from the Crescent City PD were still spread out on Steve's desk.

"Again, great work," Devitt said, slapping the younger man on the back as he crossed slowly towards the inner office. "I better get back to my work." He looked pointedly at Mike before turning his attention back to Steve. "That was a hell of a job you did today, Steve… congratulations."

"Well, let's not count our chickens just yet… I want to see whose picture Dale took first. I just hope it _was _Carole Goodman."

Devitt held up both hands, his fingers crossed. Laughing, he nodded towards Mike. "Oh, ah, I think your partner has something to tell you too. He wasn't just sitting around twiddling his thumbs all day, you know…" he said enigmatically with a slight smirk before stepping into the office and shutting the door.

Steve looked at Mike and raised his eyebrows. "Oh…?"

Mike smiled almost self-consciously. "I, ah, I was kinda busy today too."

"You were?"

The older man shrugged. "Yeah, a bit."

Steve smiled sardonically. "A bit…? You, ah, you want to fill me in on what _a bit_ really means?"

Chuckling, Mike gestured towards the fax papers on the desk. Steve looked at the papers, then at Mike, then took a step closer to the desk and leaned over it. He straightened up and looked at his partner again. "Are these what I think they are?"

"If you think they're from the vehicle Bayner might have used to take Goodman's body up to Crescent City… then you're right."

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he started to chuckle. When he opened his eyes, Mike was staring at him with a bemused smile. "And there's more…"


	74. Chapter 74

"What do you mean 'there's more'?" Steve asked, tilting his head and trying not to smile too broadly.

Mike nodded towards the desk. "Pull up a chair. I'll show you." He crossed behind the desk to sit in Steve's chair as the younger man, with a quiet chuckle, pulled the guest chair alongside and sat.

Mike told him about the call from Chief Sunderland, the mysterious car on the deserted road in the middle of the night in late June and the two identical sets of car tire tracks in the mud. He nodded at the fax papers on the desk. "They've made plaster molds, and they're going to send photos of the molds, of the tracks themselves and everything else they've got down to us tomorrow."

Steve had picked up one of the papers and was studying it closely. When his focus returned to his partner, he stared at him with a soft smile for several seconds before he said quietly, "This is amazing, it really is…" He looked at the faxes again. "Wow…" He sat back and shook his head slowly. "Well, if Casey shows up with the news I want to hear, they we can definitely go back to see Gerry tomorrow morning and get those warrants… Well, the search warrant anyway…"

Mike was watching him carefully and he frowned slightly. He wasn't sure if Steve had used the term 'we' deliberately or not but it sounded so very good to be included in an investigation again, even if it was just a slip of the tongue. He cleared his throat gently. "Um, when I said there's more, I meant there's more…"

Steve frowned. "More than this?" He raised the fax in his hand slightly, sounding incredulous, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Umh-humh," Mike nodded. "Take a look at that a little closer."

His frown deepening, Steve examined the fax, trying to figure out what his partner was telling him. He stared at it silently for several seconds then shrugged. "It's a tire tread… looks like it's from a car…" He looked up again. Mike was looking at him with bemused patience. "So…?"

"So would you put a dead body in the trunk of your very expensive and beloved canary yellow Mustang and drive it all the way upstate?"

Steve's eyes narrowed slightly. "No, I wouldn't…" he replied slowly, the pieces snapping into place as Mike had hoped they would. He smiled. "These aren't from the Mustang…"

Mike grinned and was just opening his mouth to elaborate when Dale Casey came through the Homicide door and strode up to Steve's desk, beaming. "Special delivery," he said with a laugh as he handed the inspector a large manila envelope. "Sorry for the delay but it was as fast as I could go."

Grinning, and with a glance at Mike who had nodded in recognition at Casey and was now looking on with interest, Steve opened the envelop and slid a stack of 5x7 colour prints out into his right hand. Mike moved some of the fax papers away to clear a space and Steve set the prints on the desk.

"The best one is on top," Casey said, and it took the detectives less than a second to confirm that, without a doubt, the subject was Carole Goodman, nee Rochford, who was taking out the garbage in the Bayner backyard. "Is it her?"

Picking up the top print, Steve looked up at the crime scene photographer and nodded. "It sure is, Dale. Thank you very much. You've just made our case."

Casey chuckled. "Cool, man. Well, they're all yours," he gestured at the photos, "and if you need anything else, just let me know." He winked at them both and turned to leave.

"Hey, ah, Dale?" Steve stopped him. "Irene was right – you are a good luck charm. Thanks for the hard work today."

"Anytime," Casey laughed as he disappeared through the outer door.

Steve watched him go then looked back at the photo in his hand. Mike had picked up the rest of the stack and was going through them slowly. "He's good," he said under his breath, nodding.

"That's why he's on the payroll," Steve laughed as Mike handed him the prints. He rifled through them quickly, finishing with a heavy, satisfied sigh. "Well, Gerry here I come…" he chuckled.

Mike looked at him with a slight smile. "You want a little more ammo?"

"What do you mean?"

Gesturing at the faxes again, Mike explained, "Well, I had quite a bit of time to myself while you were… otherwise engaged…" He gestured at the colour prints of Carole Rochford. "So I did a little calling around, you might say, to see if our Mr. Bayner may have rented a vehicle of some description to transport said body upstate…" He stopped talking and just stared at the younger man with an expectant expression.

Steve stared back, frowning slightly, connecting the dots once again. Then he tilted his head and a faint smile emerged. "No…?" he exhaled softly, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "You found the rental car Bayner used…?"

"Umh-humh," Mike nodded gently with a closed-mouth smile, his eyes dancing once again. "He used his own credit card, which was pretty stupid, I grant you, but he doesn't seem to have the… oh, I don't know, _chutzpah_ that Trammel showed when he stole the credit card from that pizza restaurant. But he did have the wherewithal to rent from another city – San Jose."

Steve was still slightly in awe. "How in the hell did you find it in San Jose? How many places did you have to call before you struck gold?"

Mike chuckled. "Well, that was pure dumb luck. I sort of put myself in his shoes. I mean, you wouldn't want to rent from someplace in your own city, now would you? It's too easy to trace. And the ones right around you are too close as well. And maybe you didn't want to rent from a small place because people might remember you too easily, so you probably want to rent from a big national company in a bigger metropolitan area." He shrugged with a soft snort. "I started with Berkeley and Oakland, then went south. It took me about two hours but…" He laughed and bobbled his head, trying to look nonchalant but not quite succeeding.

Shaking his head in wonder, Steve slipped his right arm behind his partner and patted his back, chuckling. "Wow…" He swallowed heavily, still trying to take in all this stunning new information. "Well, we're definitely going to go to Gerry tomorrow morning."

"I should hope so," Mike agreed with a happy laugh, "but we still have work to do to put the nails in the coffin, so to speak. The rental company is taking the car – it's an LTD by the way, huge trunk – out of circulation till we get there. I told them we'd have a team over there first thing tomorrow morning to take tire tread photos and prints and get the rental agreement and everything else we need. I also told them that if we can positively identify the tires as the ones we're looking for, then we're going to impound the car as evidence. They weren't too thrilled with that but after I… explained everything, they were more than happy to cooperate." He chuckled dryly.

Steve was looking at the faxes again, shaking his head and smiling. He looked up at Mike and sighed happily. "This is really coming together, isn't it?"

Mike chuckled. "Yes, it is. And it's time to put our cards on the table, so to speak." He glanced at the inner office. "Why don't we go in and tell Roy what we've got, then grab some dinner. I think we need an early night 'cause things are gonna shift into really high gear tomorrow morning, wouldn't you say?"

# # # # #

Steve looked up from the plate of lasagna and frowned. "You look tired."

Mike raised his head quickly and blinked a couple of times. "Uh, what?"

Smiling affectionately, the younger man repeated, "You look tired."

"Yeah, a little bit, I guess. It was a busy day for me… well, busier than I've had in the past few weeks. I guess I expended a lot of mental energy…" he chuckled self-consciously with an easy shrug before he stabbed another piece of ravioli and popped it into his mouth.

Steve nodded. "Yeah." He awkwardly cut off another slice of lasagna and raised his fork. "Look, ah, I know Roy said if you were going to come in tomorrow that you had to stay in the office again, and that Lee would follow up on the rental car in San Jose and only Bill and I would be going to see Gerry…" He smiled almost sadly.

"I know," Mike said softly, looking down at his plate. His disappointment was clearly obvious and Steve knew exactly how he felt. The adrenaline high they had both experienced from the productive day had worn off and Mike was once again facing the reality that he was still on medical leave and that it would be weeks until he would officially be back at work.

"Listen, ah, I want to make sure I have everything laid out perfectly for Gerry so he can get to work right away. Why don't you meet me in the office tomorrow morning at 8… and you and I'll go through everything to make sure I haven't overlooked anything? Just like we always do… right?"

Mike's head had come up slowly; his troubled eyes softened and a tiny smile played over his lips. "Right," he whispered. "I'd like that a lot…" He looked down at the plate and speared another piece of ravioli. "Thanks…"

Steve stared at the top of his partner's head and smiled.

# # # # #

It was shortly after 11 am when Lee Lessing walked into the bullpen with a large brown envelope and a huge smile.

Mike and Steve were sitting side by side, poring over the pieces of paper, faxes, photographs and notebooks that totally obscured the top of the latter's desk. Steve's wardrobe was back to normal as was his hair; Mike was more casual in dark blue polo shirt and his reading glasses. The inspector was making notes on a pad in his lap. They both looked up.

"Well?" Mike asked, his eyebrows rising above the rim of the glasses.

"We got so much stuff I think we should drive straight to Fremont and arrest Bayner right this moment," Lessing chuckled, holding the envelope out for Steve to take.

"Oh ho, wish that we could," his colleague said as he opened the flap and reached in to pull out a few flimsy pieces of paper. It was the company's copy of the rental agreement. Steve looked at the name and chuckled then held it out to Mike.

"I told you he wasn't too bright… or he didn't think it through," Mike said with a chuckle, taking the paper from his partner's hand. Steve looked up at Lessing.

"So the guys in the lab have the prints… you know, when they put ink on the tires and drive them over that paper…?" Lessing shrugged and others nodded. "And they took pictures and measurements. The rental company offered to give us the tires but we told them just to park the car and leave it and if it's a match, we're coming back to get the entire car."

"Yeah, I told them that too," Mike grinned. "It sounds like they might not have believed me."

"Well," Lessing laughed, "they know that for sure now. Charlie was with us and when he told them he might be coming back for the car himself, I think they believed him."

Mike frowned, looking up from his study of the agreement. "Charlie went with you?" They all knew the lab chief only occasionally left the confines of his domain, depending on the importance of the case. He looked at Steve with a facial shrug. "Wow, you seem to have more pull with our crime lab than I do…"

Steve rolled his eyes and looked back at Lessing. "So what's the lab going to do?"

"Well, right now I have to bring the faxes down to them to compare the prints, but I was told that until we get the originals from Crescent City, they can only give us a preliminary analysis."

"Hey, hey, hey," Mike said softly, leaning towards his partner and pointing to something in the agreement. "Look at this…"

Steve took the paper and stared at where the older man had indicated. His face broke into a smile and he looked up at Lessing, holding up the paper slightly. "It seems Bayner put close to eight hundred miles on the LTD in 24 hours."

Mike mimed putting a key in a lock and turning it with a "Click"; all three laughed.

"What time are you and Bill scheduled to see Gerry?" Lessing asked, still chuckling.

"Four o'clock," Steve said, growling and rolling his eyes as he automatically looked at the cast then at the watch on his right wrist; he still hadn't got used to that. Mike looked up at Lessing and winked.

"When's the stuff due from up north?"

"We got a call from the chief up there; he said the courier service picked the package up at 6. It's scheduled to arrive here around 2," Mike answered. "Does that give the lab enough time to make the official comparison before you head over to Gerry's office, you think?" He looked at Steve.

The younger man shrugged. "It better, because one way or another, I'm getting those warrants today."


	75. Chapter 75

"This is very impressive, Steve, Bill… it really is." ADA Gerry O'Brien closed the file and sat back with a smile. "You've done a hell of a lot of work on this in the past couple of days. I'm impressed."

Both inspectors nodded. "Thanks, Gerry," Steve acknowledged for them both, "but, ah, but do we have enough?"

O'Brien leaned forward and exhaled loudly, looking down at the closed file on his desk. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, you have more than enough for a search warrant, and I'm sure ADA Warren over in Alameda will agree, but I think he's going to have a little trouble with the arrest warrant. Again, you've got a lot of circumstantial evidence… some very compelling circumstantial evidence without a doubt, like the tire tracks and the rental car in Bayner's name… very impressive. Especially the eight hundred miles he put on it.

"But Warren is going to say, 'well, he could've driven upstate just to check on his property.' And he'd be right. There's no proof he went upstate to bury a body in the middle of the night. It's still just circumstantial."

Steve sighed heavily and looked at Tanner. "We need the body."

O'Brien chuckled gently. "Yeah… you need the body, and it would also help if you could find something in the rental car that proved it was used to transport the body." When both inspectors looked at him with deepening frowns, he raised both hands placatingly. "But I'd settle for the body, okay? And so will Warren, I'm sure of that."

Steve nodded slowly, looking down. "Okay… I understand." He looked up at the ADA. "We have the rental car being towed here right now, and Mike is talking to the district attorney up there in Del Norte County about getting the Crescent City police a search warrant for Bayner's property."

"Well, if he needs any more ammunition have him give me a call but I doubt he'll need my help. Your partner can be a very persuasive guy," O'Brien chuckled.

"Tell me about it," Steve grumbled good-naturedly and the others laughed.

O'Brien exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry to be such a wet blanket, fellas, but you want to make sure you have every bullet in the chamber, so to speak, before you pull the trigger on this one." He smiled encouragingly. "Anyway, ah, do you want me to ask Warren for a search warrant at least? I'm sure you have more than enough for that."

Steve looked at Tanner, brows raised, then shook his head. "No, not yet, Gerry, thanks anyway. As much as I want to get a look at that garage of his, I think if we tip our hand, the two of them are going to disappear. So we're gonna need that arrest warrant at the same time."

"Yeah, I understand." The ADA picked up the folder and held it out. "The second you find that body, _if_ you find that body, come back and I'll call Warren, okay?"

Taking the file, Steve got to his feet. "Thanks, Gerry."

# # # # #

Mike put his hand over the mouthpiece as Steve and Tanner walked into the bullpen, looking slightly crestfallen. He met them with a huge grin. "I got it," he said quickly in a loud whisper then went back to his phone call. "Yes?... Yes, I understand… Okay, that's great… Yeah…. Yeah, we'll be waiting… Thanks a lot – and good luck!" He hung up. "What did Gerry say?"

Steve looked at him with a frown. "He, ah, he wants us to wait till – or _if _– we find a body…"

Mike suppressed a smile. "Well, don't look so glum." He pointed at the phone. "That was Chief Sunderland. He just got the search warrant from their D.A. and he and his deputies and lab guys are heading out to Bayner's property as soon as they get everyone together."

After glancing at Tanner, Steve stared at him, frowning slightly. "Tonight?" He sounded incredulous.

Mike nodded, brows raised, trying not to grin. He shrugged. "Well, they've still got about four hours of daylight left so… yeah, why not?" His smile wavered. "Jeez, I wanted to be there when they did it," he said under his breath, looking down briefly. "Anyway, the chief said he'd call either as soon as they found anything or when they call it a night."

Steve was staring into space, his gaze unfocused. Mike frowned and glanced at Tanner with a shrug.

"What? I thought you'd be happy about this."

The green eyes snapped back towards the older man and he smiled. "I am," he almost blurted out. "I am, believe me, I am… I'm just trying to figure out what we should do with Gerry right now."

"What do you mean?"

Steve dropped into his own guest chair at the side of the desk and faced his partner. "Well, if they find something up in Crescent City tonight, then I want to get that body back here as soon as possible so we can make a positive I.D. Which means we have to present them with a court order to get it down here, right?"

Mike was nodding slowly in agreement. "Well, I don't think Chief Sunderland is going to challenge our jurisdiction, if that's what you mean?"

Steve shook his head with a soft chuckle. "No, I don't mean that, but I want to make sure, like you've always told me," he nodded at the older man with a gentle smile, "that whoever ends up representing Bayner and Rochford has no reason to question the legitimacy of any of our moves, so I want the paperwork all signed, sealed and delivered before anything else."

Mike's face had slowly lit up and he nodded, clearing his throat. "I, ah, I like the way you think," he laughed quietly. "So, ah, this is your ballgame… what do you want to do?"

Glancing up at Tanner, Steve said, "Well, I think we should give Gerry a call and tell him what's happening upstate, and see what he wants to do... see if he's going to have an ADA on call tonight in case we need to get the paperwork started. If they find something tonight, I want it on the way here first thing tomorrow morning."

Tanner nodded. "I'll give him a call." He headed towards his desk.

Steve looked at his partner, staring at him for several seconds, shaking his head slowly, before he said, "And you used to call _me _'Wonder Boy'…" he chuckled affectionately. "I gotta come up with some kinda nickname for you along those lines…"

"Yeah, just try it," Mike growled, reaching out and grabbing the younger man by the back of the neck and shaking him. They both laughed, then Mike sat back, folding his hands over his stomach and looking at Steve with a silly grin and raised eyebrows. "Well, I think my work here is done…" he chuckled.

"Not on your life," Steve chortled. "You can't just come in here and help solve the case for us and then just disappear into the night like… The Shadow, you know?"

Mike frowned comically. "What…?"

Steve inclined his head. "The Shadow…? Oh, come on, I know you've heard of The Shadow. Everybody your age -" He stopped abruptly, swallowing guiltily when Mike's eyebrows shot up.

"Everybody my age' what?" There was a distinct edge in the voice.

Steve cleared his throat. "I just meant, you must've listened to The Shadow when you were growing up… right?"

"You mean back in the dark ages when we all sat around the radio at night and listened to Major Bowes and Edgar Bergen?"

Steve swallowed again, meeting the narrowed blue eyes evenly. He smiled wanly with a tiny nod.

"I preferred The Lone Ranger," Mike said with a growl and it took a beat or two for the younger man to realize his leg was being pulled. Mike started to laugh as Steve closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, shaking his head and chuckling dryly. The older man grabbed him by the neck again, shook him briefly then patted the back of his head.

"Anyway…" Steve continued, dragging out the word, "what I was trying to say was, I'm gonna stay here until we hear from upstate, of course, and I thought maybe you'd want to stay and keep me company…?" He knew Mike needed to remain a part of the team, and to know that his contributions to the investigation had been invaluable. And, besides, he liked having him around.

Mike stared at him expressionlessly then he nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that."

With a chuckle and a grin, Steve patted him on the back and got to his feet, crossing the bullpen towards Tanner's desk. Mike watched him go with a grateful smile, exhaling heavily and looking down, blinking quickly to clear his eyes.

# # # # #

Tossing the cold and congealed pizza crusts back into the box, Steve raised his right wrist and glanced at his watch again then looked towards the inner office at the outside window. The deep purple glow of twilight was starting to fade to black. He got to his feet and picked up the pizza box, taking it to the small black garbage can beside the coffee trolley and dumping it in. He turned back to survey the bullpen.

Mike was reclining in the desk chair, his legs, feet crossed, stretched out before him and his hands laced over his stomach. His chin was resting on his chest, the fedora low over his eyes. He looked asleep.

Tanner was equally relaxed, slouching in his chair with his feet up on his desk. His eyes were closed as well and he was snoring softly.

Steve chuckled gently, shaking his head. The bullpen door opened and Lessing, still dressed for the streets but without the startlingly realistic Afro wig, walked in with two paper bags in his hands. "Sustenance at last!" he announced loudly and Steve watched with a smile as Mike and Tanner started awake, both of them quickly looking around in confusion, Tanner guiltily taking his feet off the desk before Mike could reprimand him.

"Oh, it's about time," Tanner moaned as he got to his feet and crossed to Steve's desk where Lessing had deposited the two papers bags and was now taking four large cardboard cups of coffee out and passing them around.

"Thank you," Mike intoned with a grateful smile as he took the cup in both hands and set it on the table, prying off the lid and taking a sip. He closed his eyes and sighed happily.

Steve laughed as he accepted a cup from Lessing, doing the same as his partner. When all four had the chance to enjoy their first sips of the rejuvenating beverage, Lessing observed, "I take it they haven't called yet…?"

Steve tilted his head and shrugged. "Not yet. But that doesn't mean anything. Whether they discover a body tonight or not, they still have to get back to the station, most likely, before they can call us."

Mike nodded. "Yeah…" He sounded a little defeated. He took off his hat and dropped it on the desk then quickly looked up at Lessing, lifting his cup slightly. "Thanks, Lee, this really hits the spot. How much do we owe you?" He put the cup down and started to reach into his pants pocket.

"No no no," Lessing said quickly, shaking his head. "It's on me, Mike."

"You sure?"

Grinning, the young inspector nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Mike nodded once with a smile. "Thanks –"

The phone on Steve's desk rang. All four homicide detectives looked at it but nobody moved. After the first ring, Mike looked at Steve, who gestured with his chin towards the phone. "This is all yours, you answer it," he said quickly.

With a quick glance at the others, Mike picked up the receiver. "Homicide, Lieutenant Stone… Yes… Yes… Okay… Yeah… What time?... Tomorrow morning. Okay, that sounds perfect… Yes… Yeah, thank you very much. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He hung up and looked at the phone for several long seconds.

The others had been staring at him silently during the entire phone call. And no one moved now. Finally Mike turned to look at them impassively. He swallowed heavily and looked at Tanner. "Bill, I think you need to give Gerry that call." He looked back at Steve and smiled slowly. "They found a body… wrapped in a blue tarp and tied with yellow nylon rope."


	76. Chapter 76

With a happy snort, Tanner almost bolted to his desk. Steve was still staring silently at his partner, who was staring back with twinkling eyes. "They found a body?" the younger man asked slowly, needing confirmation.

Mike nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Sunderland said it wasn't too far in from the road and it was only about two feet down and covered with a lot of leaves and brush. It was pretty easy to spot, he said."

Steve was nodding slowly. "Well, if the place was as Sunderland described, then Bayner might not've been expecting anyone to go up there. He said it's just bush, right?"

"Yeah. Or maybe Bayner was counting on going back up eventually and moving it somewhere else… or burying it deeper...?"

Steve shrugged in agreement. "Yeah. Ah, so what's happening?"

Mike chuckled. "Well, the chief seems pretty hyped up. I don't think they get many murder cases up there. He's said he's not too anxious about waiting for the official paperwork, he's just going to go ahead and let the paper catch up when it does." He grinned and shook his head bewilderedly. "Wow, wouldn't that be nice," he mumbled with a chuckle then looked back at his partner. "Anyway, he said his lab guys are good but not experienced in this kind of stuff, so he's going to have them just seal the bag up and then they're going to put it in a station wagon and drive it down here right away." He finished with a bigger grin.

Steve frowned. "Right now?"

"Right now. It'll be here by tomorrow morning."

Steve inclined his head and his frown deepened. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Why do you keep repeating me?" Mike asked with a gentle laugh, chuckling. "Yes, tomorrow morning. So I suggest you call down to the morgue and leave a message for Bernie because I'm pretty sure he's going to want to do the autopsy himself. And after you make that call, and a couple of others, I'm sure, then I suggest we all get out of here and try to catch a few hours sleep because I also have a feeling tomorrow is going to be another busy day." He looked expectantly from Steve to Lessing and back again.

"Uhm, yeah," Steve said suddenly, almost galvanized into action. He looked at Lessing.

Glancing at Mike and nodding, Lessing said quickly, "I'll call Bernie."

"Okay, great," Steve agreed. "I'll give Devitt a call and let him know what's going on. And then I'll leave word with Charlie that he has the rental car and a tarp and a nylon rope, and probably the deceased clothes, to examine tomorrow." He smiled mirthlessly. "You're right, it's going to be a busy day." He looked at the phone on his desk and then at Mike sitting in his chair, then he turned and went into the inner office, sitting in Mike's chair and picking up the phone, glancing through the window at his partner with a smug grin.

Laughing softly, Mike sat back and surveyed the bullpen, at the talented young inspectors on their phones, making preparations for the hectic day ahead. The unit was working like the well-oiled machine it had become and the melancholic pride that washed over him almost took his breath away. He looked into his office, at Steve behind the desk, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

With a heavy sigh, Mike looked down, his vision blurring, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. This was rapidly becoming a younger man's game, he thought, and maybe it _was _time...

# # # # #

Mike, Steve, Tanner and Lessing were all standing outside the loading dock when the station wagon drove slightly past the short driveway then backed in close to the double doors.

They had all managed to get home before midnight and gotten several hours of much needed sleep, agreeing to meet back in the office by 7 a.m. to make sure they didn't miss the arrival of the most important piece of evidence in this extremely convoluted and patience-testing case.

Two Crescent City deputies exited the station wagon and introduced themselves, and it didn't take long for the military-style body bag to be off-loaded onto a gurney and disappear into the morgue. With the San Francisco side of the transfer paperwork taken care of, the deputies, politely declining the offer of a hearty San Francisco sourdough breakfast, returned to their car and headed for home, explaining that one had slept on the way down and the other would sleep on the way back up.

"Well, I don't think I've ever had this big an audience for an unveiling," Bernie intoned with a dry chuckle when the four Homicide detectives walked into the autopsy room.

"What can we say, Bernie," Mike laughed, "we admire your work."

"Right…" the tall thin coroner muttered as one of his assistants began to undo the zipper on the body bag. "Hey, Mike, I thought you were still on sick leave?"

"Ssssh," Mike hissed, putting his right forefinger to his lips then laughing. "Nobody knows I'm here except, well, everybody…" He laughed. "I'm, ah, I'm just a consultant on this one."

"Yeah, right," Steve chuckled. "This body is his, Bernie… well, so to speak."

"Do tell," the coroner encouraged as the tarpaulin-wrapped body was removed from the bag and placed on the shiny metal autopsy table. The distinct smell of decomposing flesh had started to permeate the room.

The partners looked at each other and Mike nodded; the size of the wrapped body was consistent with what they knew of Goodman's height and weight.

The door opened and Dale Casey, his camera bag in one hand and a camera in the other, came into the room, nodding his greetings to everyone. He gestured with his chin towards the table. "This still the same case?" he asked Steve, who nodded. Chuckling, Casey started to record the scene. "You're making progress it seems."

"How long has this body been in the ground?" Bernie asked.

Steve exhaled loudly with a soft shrug. "A month, give or take."

"Then prepare yourself, gentlemen, this is going to get _really_ unpleasant." He nodded towards the counter and a large jar of Vicks then glanced at them meaningfully. Tanner picked up the jar, opening it and passing it around. All four spread the pungent salve under their noses.

While the nylon rope was carefully undone and removed, and the tarp slowly unwrapped, Steve filled Bernie in on the case and the work that had gone into this moment. It took almost ten minutes to get to where the last piece of the tarp could be unfolded to reveal the body beneath.

Mike and Steve had subconsciously taken a step closer to the table, holding their breaths in anticipation. Carefully easing the blue tarp away from the upper part of the body, Bernie studied the partially decomposed corpse with professional detachment. "It looks to be the body of a well developed white male, about mid-twenties, I would say, although that's hard to pin down at the moment. Dark hair. No obvious signs of trauma although that's also hard to tell at the moment." He looked over his shoulder at the detectives, all of whom were staring at the remains.

"So, does this look in any way like your suspected victim?"

Steve looked at him and nodded. "Yeah, it does."

"Okay, well, give me a few hours, gentlemen, and I hope to have confirmation for you. You do know, of course, that even if he has a wallet with his driver's license in his pocket, I still have to corroborate with dental records and/or fingerprints before I can sign off on this, right?"

Steve bobbled his head resignedly. "Yeah, we know."

Bernie smiled knowingly. He was used to having anxious detectives impatiently shadowing his every move. "Listen, ah, I'll get my report to you as soon as I can, okay?"

Mike finally pried his eyes away from the corpse. "Thanks, Bernie." He turned and started for the door, the others in his wake.

# # # # #

Tanner crossed the bullpen to where Mike and Steve were going over all the reports in the Trammel/Goodman file once again. They looked up.

"Okay, I've got Lee working on getting the paperwork from Crescent City to make sure we have our bona fides all signed and sealed with regards to the body. And I just got off the phone with the D.A.'s office and if we get the positive I.D. from Bernie before noon, Gerry will see us at 1 and then he'll send us over to Oakland to the Alameda D.A. and they'll issue us the warrants after they see what we've got."

Steve snorted. "Humh, they're not going to just take Gerry's word for it?" he asked facetiously and Tanner chuckled.

"Ah, no. They actually want to see what we've got." They all laughed.

"Okay, that's sounds great, Bill, thanks for setting it up." Steve frowned, chewing on his lower lip.

"What is it?" Mike asked.

"Well, I think that means we're not going to be able to make an arrest today. By the time we get our hands on the actual warrants, it's probably going to be close to 4 or 5 o'clock. And I'm pretty sure Bayner works tonight, which means he won't be home. And I don't want to have to arrest them separately. I want to get them together." He looked at Mike. "Do you agree?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense; eliminates the need for two teams and possibly having one of them somehow getting word to the other one if things don't go so smoothly."

"So what are you thinking?" Tanner asked, "First thing tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow's what? Friday, right?" Mike and Tanner nodded. Steve thought about it for a few seconds then said, "I want to have them at a disadvantage. We're going to have to bring at least one team of detectives from the Fremont department with us, of course, and I'd like a black-and-white for back-up. And we're going to need their crime scene technicians as well, 'cause I want them to start processing that garage the second we take them into custody. So I'm thinking, we'll knock on their door at 7 a.m.? Sun comes up just after 6:30 so we won't be in the dark."

Mike looked at Tanner and raised his eyebrows. Then he smiled. "I think that's a great idea."

"Me too," Tanner nodded.

"Good," Steve said, running his right hand over the back of his neck. He looked at his partner. "Okay, why don't you and I finish up with the duplicate file for the Alameda D.A.'s office, and Bill, I need you to call over to the Fremont PD and see who we need to talk to to arrange things for tomorrow morning. And then do what you need to do to set everything up with them, okay?"

"Will do."

"Oh, ah, Bill, you and I'll be going over to Oakland to talk to the D.A. this afternoon and get those warrants, 'cause I have a feeling he's going to make us do a… presentation of some kind. He doesn't know us, we don't have a history with him so…"

"No, that makes sense. Sure, I'll try to get everything set up for tomorrow morning before then." Tanner strode back to his desk.

Steve turned back to the files and papers on his desk. He could feel Mike's eyes on him and he turned to look into the older man's expressionless face. He smiled softly. "I know what you're thinking," he said quietly. "You're hoping I'm going to let you go along on the arrests tomorrow morning, aren't you?"

Mike looked down and shrugged slightly. "Well, I kinda think I earned it."

Steve snorted gently. "Of course you've earned it, there's no doubt about that. But you're still on sick leave, Mike. You're not even supposed to be here now."

Mike looked around the room with his hands out, smirking. "Oh, like it's a big secret," he grunted sarcastically. He looked at the younger man again and dipped his head slightly. "Look, I'll stay in the car, I won't even get out, I give you my word." He inhaled deeply and stared at his partner. "I want to be there, Steve… I need to be there… but you're the lead… it's your case… and I will abide by whatever decision you make."

Steve stared at him for several long seconds before he slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was shaking his head gently and trying not to smile. "If you promise me you will stay in the car until both Bayner and Rochford are in custody…"

Mike smiled and held his right hand up like he was swearing an oath. "I promise."

They stared at each other for a couple of silent beats before Steve smiled and started to laugh. Mike turned in the chair to start going through the papers again, biting his bottom lip and chuckling, feeling his partner's hand on his back as they focused their attention on the details of the case once more.


	77. Chapter 77

"Look, ah, we've got everything we need to go to Gerry this afternoon… so I want you to do me a favor, okay?" Steve was standing in front of his own desk, looking down at his partner sitting in his chair.

"Oh?" Mike asked simply, raising his eyebrows. "And what would that be?"

Steve sighed with a small smile. "Seeing as I have already… acquiesced to your request to accompany us tomorrow…" He paused and shook his head slightly. "I want you to do me a favor and go home right now and get some rest. You've been doing a lot more than you should be and you know it. I don't want you compromising your recovery, and I don't think you want to either, right?"

With a soft snort and looking down briefly, Mike shrugged. "Yeah, I guess…"

"No guessing. I want you to go home and take it easy for the rest of the day. God knows it's going to be a long day tomorrow, and the rest of today is going to be spent in meetings with D.A.'s. And I think Bill and I can handle that… We've been well taught," he finished with a smile.

Mike stared at him for a long second then smiled and shook his head. "Gee, I wonder who did that…?" he muttered under his breath as he got to his feet, picking up the fedora and dropping it on his head. He looked across the bullpen but both Tanner and Lessing were on their phones and he didn't want to disturb them. "Tell them I'll see them first thing tomorrow." He took a couple of steps towards the anteroom door then stopped. "Hey, ah, if you finish early enough tonight, drop by my place and I'll whip up something for dinner and we can talk over tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure… I'll give you a call when we finish over in Oakland."

"Okay…" With a heavy sigh, Mike walked slowly towards the outer door. Steve watched him go, not really sure if his pace was due to fatigue or just his reluctance to leave these four walls that had become his second home.

# # # # #

Steve glanced at Bill across the front seat of the tan LTD; they were crossing the Bay Bridge into Oakland on their way to the Alameda County D.A.'s office. Gerry O'Brien had been more than impressed with the progress they'd made so quickly and had paved the way for them to approach his Oakland counterpart for the warrants they needed.

"So everything's set up for tomorrow morning?"

"Yep," Tanner nodded. "The Fremont guys were more than willing to help. We're to meet them at their headquarters at 6 a.m. and we can talk them through what we know and what we're hoping to find out. And how we hope the arrest will go down."

"Terrific… thanks, great work."

Tanner nodded, glancing through the windshield then back at his colleague behind the wheel. "So, ah, is it true that Mike's going to come with us tomorrow morning?"

Keeping his eyes on the road, Steve chuckled and shook his head. "He really wants to be in on the arrest, and I couldn't say no. Not after he's done so much with just a phone." He sighed heavily. "Anyway… yes, he's going to come with us… but I've made him promise he won't leave the car."

Tanner laughed. "And you think he's going to do that?"

Steve glanced across the front seat again then shrugged. "Who the hell knows…?

# # # # #

"Well?" Mike asked sharply when he yanked his front door open.

Steve laughed. "Jeez, can I get into the house first before you bombard me with questions?"

With a low good-natured growl, Mike took a step back and opened the door wider for the younger man to enter. Chuckling, Steve moved deeper into the living room, sniffing the air. "Is that tuna casserole I smell?"

"Don't change the subject. What's the bottom line?"

Steve looked at him and smiled, slowly taking off his jacket and putting it over the arm of the couch before he took pity on his partner and smiled. "We're all set to go tomorrow morning at 6 at the Fremont Police Department. The paperwork is all signed and sealed and in my possession." He grinned. "I'll pick you up at 5."

# # # # #

A small convoy was making its way up Fremont Blvd. towards Darwin Drive. Steve, Mike, Tanner and Lessing, in two SFPD cars, had met Sergeants Baines and Rodriguez at the Fremont Police Department headquarters at 6 a.m. and gone over the details of the task ahead of them. After they were joined by a black-and-white FPD cruiser and a crime lab van with two technicians and a photographer, they left the Stevenson Blvd. building in plenty of time to arrive at the Bayner house just after dawn, as scheduled.

Steve looked across the front seat and smiled. Mike was wearing his usual suit and fedora, looking very much like Mike Stone the homicide lieutenant, and his partner.

Bernie's preliminary autopsy had confirmed that the body was that of Matthew Goodman, that he had been dead anywhere from three to six weeks, and that the cause of death had been blunt force trauma to the head. The tarpaulin, nylon rope and what was left of Goodman's clothes had been delivered to the lab where Charlie and his team were going to spend whatever time it took to minutely examine everything in the hopes they could add more evidence to the already solid case against Martin Bayner and Carole Rochford.

Steve glanced down at the large manila envelop with the warrants on the seat between them. Things seemed to be going incredibly smoothly for a change.

Baines and Rodriguez, in the sky blue Plymouth Fury ahead of them, were going in as their point men, as it was their jurisdiction. And when the dust settled, and Bayner and Rochford were in custody, then they would be taken to San Francisco separately in the two SFPD sedans.

There had been no signs whatsoever of a firearm being used in either of the two murders attached to this investigation, so the expectations of one being produced during the arrest were greatly reduced, to everyone's relief. And with the element of surprise with the very early morning raid, and the suspects outnumbered seven to two, the odds were definitely in their favour.

When they got to Darwin, the black-and-white continued north on Fremont to Paseo Padre, where it turned right onto the parkway, to eventually stop on the shoulder just past Chaucer where Steve and Irene had parked two days before. They would cover the backyard and door.

On Darwin, a block before the turn onto Ramsgate, Steve pulled the LTD to the curb and turned off the engine. The other SFPD car pulled in behind him and idled. Mike looked across the front seat, frowning. "What are you parking here for?"

Steve looked at him and smiled. "Because this is where I'm leaving it… and you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are going to stay here, in the car, like you promised, until we have Bayner and Rochford in custody. Then I will call you," he pointed to the radio, "and you can join us… but not until then. Am I understood?"

Mike's eyes had narrowed as he listened quietly and his baffled smile turned into a glower. He remained silent for a couple of seconds, breathing deeply, then he closed his eyes. "All right," he said softly, slowly shaking his head in unwilling defeat and staring in feigned annoyance.

Steve snorted affectionately then reached out and patted his partner's knee before picking up the manila envelope and getting out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. Tanner had pulled the other car alongside and Steve got into the back seat, glancing at Mike as the moss green Galaxie started away, turning left onto Ramsgate and disappearing.

# # # # #

The Fury and the Galaxie pulled to the curb in front of Bayner's house; the lab van turned into the driveway. There were no lights on in the house.

The five detectives got out and approached the front door. As they crossed the small lawn, all of them unsnapped their holsters, briefly touching the grips of their revolvers as if for luck. Steve was carrying the manila envelope.

Baines and Rodriguez stepped up onto the small landing. Rodriguez looked at his partner, who nodded, then raised his right fist and pounded on the door. "Fremont Police Department! Open the door! We have a warrant!" He pounded on the door again.

A light went on in the bedroom at the front of the house. They could hear some soft thudding. Baines and Tanner put their hands on the grips of their revolvers. Rodriguez pounded on the door again. "Fremont Police Department! Open the door!"

They saw the light in the hallway go on and heard locks being disengage. The door was pulled open. It was a woman in a short pink bathrobe – Carole Rochford. "Mrs. Goodman?" Baines asked, stepping forward and holding out the search warrant Steve had handed him. When she nodded, looking stunned and disheveled, he pushed the paper into her hand; she fumbled to grab it before it fell to the floor as she held the top of the bathrobe tightly together with her other hand.

He moved past her without another word, Rodriguez, Steve and Tanner right behind him. Their next move was to locate and subdue Bayner as soon as possible. "Stay with her, Lee," Tanner instructed as he disappeared deeper into the house.

# # # # #

Mike exhaled loudly, his frustration building as he stared through the windshield at the Ramsgate corner. He hated not knowing what was going on but he also knew he had to keep his word or Steve would never trust him again, and after what had happened in both their lives recently, trust was something that couldn't be trifled with, for both their sakes.

He glanced at his watch; it was one minute later than when he had checked it the last time. He growled and sank a little lower in the seat, scowling. He heard a car approaching from behind and glanced over casually as a large dark blue sedan slid almost languidly by. The passenger side window of the Chrysler Imperial was open, its lone occupant staring straight ahead. Mike froze, sitting up abruptly. It was Martin Bayner.

The car continued slowly down Darwin. "Oh shit," Mike murmured under his breath as his heart began to pound and he reached for the radio mic, bringing it up to his mouth as he pressed the Talk button. "Steve, Bayner's not in the house, he's in the car that's just turning up the street."

The Imperial's left turn signal began to pulse and the car started to make the slow left-hand turn onto Ramsgate.

With a low growl, pretty sure nobody had heard his urgent message, Mike slid across the front seat behind the wheel and turned the key. The big engine roared to life as the Imperial disappeared up Ramsgate.

# # # # #

The large blue sedan had started up the short cul-de-sac, slowing when the driver spotted the two cars parked at the curb halfway up the street on the right. It continued past the beige stucco house, where a young black man in a jacket and tie was standing outside the open front door, and up the block towards the paved circle.

# # # # #

Lessing turned his head to watch the dark blue sedan cruise slowly past, its driver taking in the unfolding scene. He frowned, his eyes narrowing, then he caught his breath. "Steve!" he bellowed and almost immediately, alarmed by the urgency in their colleague's voice, Steve and Tanner appeared behind him at the front door.

Lessing nodded up the street to where the Imperial was slowly rounding the circle, preparing to start back down Ramsgate towards Darwin. "I'm pretty sure that's Bayner!" Taking a step off the landing, Lessing bolted towards the Imperial, which was now leaving the circle and picking up speed.

"Damn it!" Steve roared under his breath as he launched himself off the short steps and started to follow his colleague across the small lawn towards the car, Tanner on his heels. The Imperial leapt forward as Bayner stomped on the gas, rocketing down the street, the three cops sprinting down the road after him.

Suddenly the tan LTD shot into the intersection, sliding to a stop at the end of the street, straddling both lanes. The Imperial's brake lights lit up but it was too late. The large sedan's wheels locked and it started to slew, leaving black skid marks on the asphalt as it slid towards the LTD now blocking its path.

With the jarring sound of rubber squealing on pavement, the wide grille of the Imperial slammed into the driver's side of the LTD with a loud bang and the high-pitched scream of metal-on-metal as the momentum pushed the tan Ford several feet into the street. An eerie silence followed, broken only by the low hum of the LTD's still running engine and the hiss of steam escaping the crushed radiator of the Imperial.


	78. Chapter 78

"Mike!" Steve yelled as he and his colleagues continued to race down the street towards the intersection where the Imperial had t-boned the LTD.

Lessing got to the cars first; there was no movement from either vehicle except for the small cloud of steam coming from under the hood of the large Chrysler. He could see Bayner slumped against the wheel of the Imperial but no one in the LTD. He yanked open the driver's door of the Imperial; Bayner was moaning. As Lessing reached in and touched his arm, he sat back and gasped. His face was covered in blood from a horizontal cut on his forehead, and more blood was pouring from his mouth. "He's alive," Lessing called over his shoulder as Steve and Tanner got to the LTD.

Because of the way the cars were positioned, Steve couldn't get close to the driver's side door but he could see through the windshield into the front seat. Mike was lying on his side across the seat; his eyes were closed and he wasn't moving. "Mike!"

Tanner had sprinted to the other side of the LTD and opened the door. He leaned in, reaching out to gently touch the lieutenant's left shoulder. "Mike…" he said urgently, "Mike…"

Under the fedora, which was miraculously still on his head, Mike opened his eyes. He blinked a couple of times and took a sharp, gasping breath. "Bill…?" He smiled slightly as he started to push himself up.

"Don't move, don't move," Tanner urged quickly. He heard the back door being wrenched open and almost immediately Steve was kneeling on the back seat.

"Mike!" he almost yelled again, fear in his voice as he reached over the seat and grabbed the back of his partner's jacket with his left fingers, cursing the limited mobility the cast posed once again. Mike was leaning on his right elbow, reaching for the steering wheel with his left hand to pull himself up. "Mike, stay down!" Steve pleaded, trying to stop him from moving.

Chuckling slightly as he grabbed the wheel and righted himself, Mike turned to look at Bill, who was sliding onto the front seat and reaching out to grab his right arm. "I'm okay, I'm okay, don't worry…" he soothed, trying to keep his tone light so they would relax. He looked into the rearview mirror, meeting Steve's eyes, and tried to grin. He nodded. "I'm okay…"

With a glance at his colleague in the back seat, nodding and smiling in relief, Tanner slid back out of the car and circled the LTD to give Lessing a hand with the injured Bayner.

His chest heaving, trying to catch his breath, Steve patted his partner's arm with his right hand; they held each other's stare in the mirror. Suddenly Mike laughed quietly. "Hey, I kept my promise, Smiley… I didn't get out of the car…"

Steve closed his eyes, his fingers tightening around his partner's arm; he dropped his head slightly and started to chuckle. "No, you sure didn't…" He raised his head and opened his eyes. "Do me another favor, will ya, and stay here until we deal with Bayner and Rochford, okay?" When the older man nodded, he released his arm and started to crawl out of the back seat. He stopped and looked back. "I guess we're gonna have to call for a couple of tow trucks now too." He got out and shut the back door then leaned in the open front door. "You sure you're okay?"

Mike looked at him and nodded. "Yeah, I just want to sit here for a bit. Collect my marbles, so to speak," he chuckled as he reached for the key to turn the engine off. Steve nodded and began to straighten up. "Hey, ah…" Mike's voice stopped him and he leaned back in. The older man was gesturing towards the Imperial with his left hand. "Ah, which one of us gets to explain to Rudy and Roy what, ah, what happened here just now…?" He finished with a guilty grin.

Steve raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Good question. Let me think about that for awhile…" He chuckled affectionately as he backed away, leaving the door open as he crossed around the disabled LTD to where Tanner and Lessing had dragged Bayner out of the Imperial and were escorting him back to the house.

As Steve followed them up the street, he glanced back at the LTD; Mike was watching him with a reassuring smile. In the distance, he could hear a siren slowly approaching. Rodriguez was jogging towards him. "There's an ambulance on the way. Do we need a second one?"

Smiling, Steve shook his head. "No, I don't think so. He says he's okay but I do want to get him checked out at a hospital after we leave here." He nodded towards the house as they were approaching. "What's going on?"

A number of the neighbours, most in their dressing gowns, were standing on the sidewalks in front of their houses, watching in alarm the scene playing out before them.

Ignoring them, Rodriguez gestured towards the Galaxie still parked at the curb. Carole Rochford was sitting in the back seat, her eyes on Bayner, who Tanner and Lessing had made sit on the curb outside his own house; Lessing was holding a small white towel to his bleeding forehead. "She's been Miranda'd already. She's saying she doesn't know what we're talking about, of course. That's not surprising. I think she's a little shook up about the accident."

Steve nodded. "Say, ah, do you guys use a particular towing company?"

Rodriguez chuckled. "Yeah, I'll get on that too. We'll tow both cars back to our to impound yard. Then after we finish at the hospital I can drive you, Mike and Bayner back to San Francisco."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, we'd appreciate that. What hospital will they take Bayner to, do you know?"

"From here? Probably Washington. It's only about ten minutes away."

"Good."

"So anyway, the lab guys are already working on the garage and the house, so we'll leave them here with Baines and the unies. They know what you're looking for. And Baines can deal with the tow trucks and all that shit. So why don't you get your two guys to take Rochford back to The City and I'll ride in the ambulance to the hospital with Bayner. You follow with your partner in my car and we'll get them both checked out. Then the four of us'll head into The City. How does that sound?"

Steve smiled. "That sounds like a plan for sure. Thanks."

Rodriguez chuckled. "No problem." The siren sounded like it was almost on top of them and they turned to see the ambulance, lights flashing, slowing down alongside the two wrecked cars. Rodriguez sprinted partway down the street, yelling at the driver and motioning for him to go around the accident and come further up the block.

Driving over the curb onto the sidewalk at the corner in order to maneuver past the two large sedans, the ambulance came to a halt in front of the house where everyone was congregated, and where Lessing was still holding the towel against Bayner's bleeding forehead.

One attendant approached their obvious patient while the second, the driver, walked up to Steve and Rodriguez, gesturing towards the accident site at the end of the street. "What about the guy sitting in the LTD? Does he need our help?"

Both cops smiled and Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "He says he's okay but I'm going to get him checked out. I'll drive him over myself; we'll follow you."

"Are you sure…? We have room, we can take him."

"Thanks, but, ah, he'll be happier in the car."

The attendant nodded and chuckled. "Yeah, I understand." He moved to the back of the ambulance and opened the door. The second attendant had gotten Bayner to his feet and he and Lessing were leading him towards the back of the ambulance. As Bayner climbed in, Steve and Rodriguez moved closer.

"Lee, I want you and Bill to take Mrs. Goodman back to the Hall. Mike and I'll go with Bayner to the hospital then we'll bring him back as well."

"In what?" Lessing asked with a laugh, frowning.

Rodriguez chortled. "I'm gonna drive them back."

"Ah, good idea." Lessing looked at Steve. "Okay, that sounds great. Listen, ah, make sure Mike gets checked out, right? That was a helluva hard hit."

"Don't worry," Steve assured him, "we're not leaving until and unless he gets a clean bill, believe me."

"Okay. Well, good luck, and we'll see you back at the Hall."

"Yeah, thanks," Steve said, slapping his colleague on the back as he started towards the Galaxie. Tanner was already behind the wheel. Lessing got into the back seat beside Rochford, whose hands were cuffed. Tanner turned the Galaxie around, nodding at Steve as they headed down the street, driving over the curb and sidewalk the way the ambulance had done to get around the wrecks.

Both Tanner and Lessing made eye contact with Mike as they drove past; he was smiling and nodding at them, still sitting behind the wheel of the badly damaged car.

Rodriguez exchanged a few words with Baines, gave the keys to the Fury to Steve then climbed into the back of the ambulance. As it turned around and made its way back down Ramsgate, Steve got into the Fury and followed, stopping close to the LTD on the Darwin Drive side. The ambulance had pulled to the curb and was waiting.

Steve got out and crossed to the open passenger side door of the SFPD sedan, leaning in. "Can you get yourself outa there?" he asked a bemused Mike.

Chuckling, the older man nodded. "Yeah, I can get outa here," he said, starting to push himself slowly across the seat towards the open door. He turned to put both feet on the ground. Steve took his left hand and helped pull him up. Mike closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and holding his breath until he was erect. Steve was staring at him as he opened his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Obviously worried, he squeezed Mike's hand, not letting go.

Mike smiled and patted the younger man on the shoulder. "I'm fine… just a little stiff, that's all." Steve eyed him skeptically and he raised his eyebrows. "I promise…" he chuckled.

Steve tilted his head and glared; he wasn't smiling. "Well, whether you want it or not, you're getting checked out at the hospital." When the older man opened his mouth to protest, he released Mike's hand and raised his forefinger. "No arguments. I'm in charge right now and you're going to the hospital and get checked out."

Mike closed his eyes and dropped his head with a sigh. "Oh, all right," he moaned with a chuckle.

Steve turned and headed back to the Fury. Mike looked the car up and down as he crossed to the passenger side. "What, we've got a new car already?"

"Very funny. Just get in," Steve growled playfully as he slid in behind the wheel. Chuckling, Mike opened the door and carefully eased himself onto the front seat, trying not to show any discomfort. He was only partially successful.

# # # # #

"So what's the scoop?" Rodriguez asked as he approached Steve in the crowded Emergency waiting room.

"They're checking him out now. I haven't heard anything yet. What about Bayner?"

Rodriguez snorted. "Asshole has a broken nose and eight stitches in his forehead. He also knocked out a front tooth. Serves him right."

Steve frowned. "Are we gonna be able to take him back to San Francisco?"

"Oh yeah, they said he'd be ready to go in about twenty minutes. They're just splinting his nose."

"Ooo, that sounds painful."

"Yeah, I hope it is," Rodriguez laughed almost evilly and Steve chuckled in agreement.

The Fremont detective was looking over Steve's shoulder; he reached out and touched the San Francisco cop's arm, pointing across the room. Steve looked over; Mike was walking slowly through the crowd, his fedora in his hands, his tie loosened and his collar button undone.

"So, you gonna live?" Steve asked lightly when his partner got within earshot, but the others could hear the genuine concern in his voice.

Mike smiled. "Yeah, I'm gonna live." When he didn't elaborate, Steve shrugged, his hands out. "I'm fine, except I'm going to be a little stiff and sore for a couple of days, they said. Especially my neck." It was his turn to shrug and he did so carefully.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Steve knew it wasn't. "And…?" He stared, waiting patiently.

Mike sighed and rolled his eyes. " And I'm to take a few days off and take it easy… doctor's orders."

"Ah ha, I thought so!" Steve crowed triumphantly. "Well, I'm gonna make sure you follow those orders, whether you want to or not."

Rodriguez was watching the exchange with bemused interest. When there was a lull in the back and forth, he ventured, "Ah, I've been meaning to ask…" He pointed at the cast. "How did you get that?"

Steve tore his steely-eyed stare from his partner. "Oh, ah, a baseball bat. Someone we were going to talk to about… well, about this case actually, ah, didn't like us interfering in their… lifestyle choice…"

"Wow," Rodriguez mouthed quietly, "good thing it wasn't your head, hunh?"

Steve glanced at his partner, who was staring at him with a soft smile. He swallowed heavily. "Yeah… I was lucky."


	79. Chapter 79

Steve looked in the rearview mirror, trying hard to suppress a smile. If he didn't know the heavily bandaged man in the bloody shirt and handcuffs was Martin Bayner, he would never have recognized him.

Bayner had complained loudly when he had been pulled out of the wheelchair at the hospital entrance and then pushed into the back of the sky blue Fury. "We'll get you a clean shirt and that lawyer you keep bitching about when we get you to San Francisco and not a moment before," Rodriguez snarled as he slammed the back door, glancing at Steve with a shake of his head and a chuckle.

As the Fremont cop circled the trunk to get into to other side of the back seat, Steve got behind the wheel. Mike was already in the passenger seat, his head back against the rest, the fedora down over his closed eyes. His hands, fingers laced, were resting lightly across his stomach.

Steve looked at him for a long second. "You okay?" he asked softly and Mike smiled.

He lifted his head slightly and turned towards his partner. "Yeah, I'm fine… just a little sore…" He stared into the apprehensive green eyes for a long second before growling amiably, "I'm okay, don't worry."

"Even your ribs?"

Mike stared at him for another beat then nodded slowly. "Yeah," he confirmed quietly, grateful for the continuing concern.

After a short pause and with his own sober nod, Steve turned the key in the ignition and started the car.

And now they were heading north on the 880 towards the Bay Bridge. It wasn't even noon yet and they'd already had a very eventful day, probably more eventful than any of them had anticipated. Steve glanced across the front seat again. "Look, ah," he said just loud enough for Mike to hear, "I'm going to let Bill do the processing for Bayner and I'll take you home and then go back." From the corner of his eye he saw his partner's head start to come up off the seatback again so he continued quickly, "No arguments, okay? I'm in charge, remember, and you promised me you would follow the doctor's orders… and those orders were to take some time off and take it easy and that's exactly what you're going to do."

Mike's head slowly returned to the seatback and Steve could hear a soft chuckle. "Whatever you say, boss…"

# # # # #

Tanner met them in the garage and took possession of Bayner, who continued to bellyache about his broken nose and bloody shirt. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," the San Francisco homicide detective muttered as he pulled the murder suspect out of the back of the Fury and propelled him towards the elevator. He tossed a concerned look at Steve, who had gotten out and was crossing around the back of the Fremont sedan.

Tanner glanced towards Mike, still in the passenger seat, and frowned. "Is he okay?" he asked sotto voce and Steve nodded.

"Yeah, they checked him out at the hospital. He's fine, just going to be stiff and sore for a few days."

Tanner raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. "I'm not surprised."

"Yeah, look, ah, can you get Bayner booked and get him cleaned up and maybe find him a clean shirt somewhere? I want to take Mike home and then I'm going to come right back."

"Sure, not a problem."

Steve leaned a little closer and whispered. "Has anyone asked about what happened this morning yet?"

"You mean about the… _accident_…?" Tanner matched his volume. Steve nodded. "No, not yet. We just booked Rochford and we haven't been up to Homicide yet. We, ah, we were kinda hoping you'd get here first so we could, you know, decide how we're going to… handle it…"

Steve frowned, his gaze unfocusing briefly. "Yeah… uh, let me get Mike home and I'll think about it on the way back. In the meantime, if anybody asks, make something up."

"Make something up?" Tanner sounded incredulous as Steve shrugged with a slight smirk. "Great, yeah, thanks…" he chuckled mirthlessly as he led Bayner away.

Steve opened the passenger side door and leaned in. "You, ah, you need to get out of the car," he said lightly to his partner, who hadn't moved, his eyes still closed.

"Do I have to?" Mike asked with a smile. "I'm kinda comfortable here. And besides, I'm a little afraid to move…" he chuckled.

"Sorry, ah, but the Fremont PD need their car back."

Mike chuckled again. "Rats," he said, opening his eyes and looking at his partner, who shrugged. "Okay…" he sighed theatrically and turned slowly in the seat, putting both feet on the ground before put his left hand on the doorframe and held his right out for Steve to take. He shifted his weight and got gingerly to his feet, eyes closed and breath held once more. He opened his eyes and looked at the younger man. "Humh, that wasn't as unpleasant as I thought it was going to be," he chortled softly.

Rodriguez had joined them. "How are you feeling, Mike?"

The lieutenant looked at him and grinned, nodding. "Not as bad as I thought I was going to feel, although I'm beginning to think a nice hot shower wouldn't do me any harm."

"Or a nice hot bath," the Fremont sergeant offered. "There's nothing like a nice long soak in a hot tub with a good book for sore and achy muscles, let me tell you." He nodded sharply at them both.

Mike shrugged genially. "You may have a very good point, Sergeant." He held out his right hand. "Thank you for everything you did this morning."

Rodriguez grabbed and shook the proffered hand. "You're very welcome, Lieutenant. Anytime." He looked at Steve and winked. "Listen, ah, I better get this clunker back over the bridge," he chuckled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the Fury, "and see what our lab guys have turned up at the house. Steve, I'll be in touch as soon as we know anything and we'll get the results to you as soon as possible."

He shook Steve's hand. "Thanks, I appreciate that very much."

Crossing around the sedan to the driver's door, Rodriquez looked back at Mike and pointed. "And you… you take care of yourself and do exactly what that partner of yours tells you to do."

Mike grinned and nodded. "I don't think I have much choice," he laughed and Rodriguez nodded with a wide smile as he got into the sky blue sedan. The tall lieutenant turned to his partner, who was staring at him with a frown, and he checked himself, the smile wavering. "What?"

"Well, you're going to have to do more than just take a bath and relax… you're going to have to help me come up with some explanation for what happened this morning. You weren't even supposed to be there, and now I've got to somehow explain how you sacrificed our car, and almost yourself, to prevent the suspect from fleeing…?" He shook his head in frustration, taking a step towards the car pool office. "Why do I see my career going up in flames…?" he grumbled semi-seriously, walking away.

"You know, I was thinking about all of that during the ride up here just now," Mike said lightly and watched as his partner stopped and turned back to him slowly. The older man raised his eyebrows and smiled.

After a couple of silent seconds, Steve asked "And…?!"

Mike slid his hands into his pants pockets and gestured towards the office with his chin. "Get the keys. I'll tell you in the car while you're driving me home."

# # # # #

Steve pulled the dark green LTD to the curb in front of the De Haro house and put the hazard lights on. Mike raised his head from the back of the seat. "You know, you can park across the street like you usually do. It's only another, oh, twenty feet…"

Steve looked at him with a smug smile. "I know. But every once in awhile I like to take advantage of our fringe benefits, like U-turns and illegal parking," he chuckled dryly.

With a snort and a grin, Mike opened the door, turned in the seat and slowly pulled himself out of the car. Steve met him on the sidewalk. "Take your time," he ordered as he started up the steep stairs at a jog.

Taking the concrete steps one at a time, his right hand on the railing, the front door was standing open by the time he got to the landing. As he stepped over the threshold, Steve was coming out of the kitchen. "I just filled the percolator and plugged it in. And there's a bottle of Tylenol on the counter. Are you going to be okay on your own?"

Mike lowered his head and glared at him from under an annoyed brow.

Steve chuckled, smiling. "Okay, well, I'm gonna head back to the Hall. I'll give you a call later… and, ah, I'll bring something by for dinner tonight. You just, ah… you just take it easy, okay?" He started for the door then stopped. Mike had moved deeper into the living room, taking off his hat and dropping it on the coffee table. "Listen, ah," he said gently and the older man turned to look at him. "Ah, what you did this morning… I mean, I know what you said in the car… and we'll see if that works but…" He paused and took a deep breath. "But what I want to say is… that was a hell of a thing you did this morning, a hell of a gamble…" He smiled warmly and Mike could see his green eyes brighten. "And I'm very happy, and relieved, that you won…"

They stared at each other for a couple of silent seconds, then Mike nodded once, slowly, and smiled. With an acknowledging snort and a smile of his own, Steve left the house, closing the door quietly behind him.

Mike stood in the centre of his living room for several long moments, letting the full weight of his partner's words wash over him. Then, with a soft chuckle, he sat slowly on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. Maybe he wasn't too old for this job just yet, he thought, smiling.

# # # # #

Tanner looked up from his desk as Steve walked into the bullpen. With a glance at Devitt behind the desk in Mike's office, he got up and crossed the tile floor.

Steve was taking off his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. He looked up at his colleague's rapid approach. "Rochford's in the interview room," he nodded towards the small glassed-wall room in the corner, "and Bayner's down the hall. They've both asked for lawyers. We're waiting for a couple of public defenders to get here." Tanner looked quickly in Devitt's direction again, leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I think Roy's on to what might've happened this morning." He shrugged slightly and raised his eyebrows. "I don't know how, but he was asking some strange questions like, you know, was Mike with us and why did a Fremont detective have to drive Bayner back here… that kinda stuff…" He shrugged again.

Steve frowned. "How did he know about that?" He pursed his lips, thinking. "You think he's got spies down in the garage?"

Both of them glanced towards Mike's office. "I wouldn't put it past him," Tanner mused.

Steve exhaled loudly and took a step back. "Well, there's nothing we can do about that right now. We have a couple of suspects to question."

"Yes, we do. How do you want to handle this?"

Steve moved behind his desk and flipped open the file sitting on top. "Well, we're interviewing them separately, that's for sure. But I don't want us to go in before we're ready, and I want to find out what, if anything, they find in Bayner's garage before we start." He exhaled loudly and ran his right hand down his cheeks, pinching his chin. "Bill, we have the time, right, so let's take them to the holding cells, no contact, and we'll interview them tomorrow morning. Let them stew in their own juices for the night, speculate about what they think we might know…"

Tanner nodded slowly, approvingly.

"And I want us to start with her first. See what she has to say before we confront him."

Tanner smiled. "I'll get right on that."

"Thanks, Bill." As the black detective started to turn away, Steve stopped him. "Listen, ah, you and Lee'll conduct the interviews but I'm gonna sit in… you know, in the back corner like Mike does sometimes. So this afternoon I want the three of us to go over everything we gathered so far until you guys know every single piece of evidence we have stone cold. How does that sound?"

Tanner was nodding again. "I like that a lot, and I know Lee will too."

"Good. Okay, when you guys get Bayner and Rochford squared away, come on back and we'll start. And then I'm going to spend the night with Mike and pick his brain clean."


	80. Chapter 80

One fairly large paper bag cradled in his left arm, Steve crouched and put the other one on the concrete landing before pounding on the door. When there was no sound or acknowledgement from inside he pounded again. Frowning, he reached into his jacket pocket for the keys and, one-handed, juggled them till he could grab the one he needed. He was just putting it in the lock when the knob was turned and it was yanked open.

A bleary-eyed Mike glared at him for a moment before growling, "Jeez, you're impatient sometimes…" He smiled and chuckled as he took a step back then reached for the bag that Steve, scowling, was picking up from the stoop. "Here, give me that," he said as he grabbed the bag and pulled it out of the younger man's hand.

"I didn't hear a sound – you didn't yell 'coming' or anything – so I thought you might be asleep… or still in the bathtub," Steve chuckled wickedly, not meeting the suddenly narrowed blue eyes that he knew were following him as he entered the house. He walked straight into the kitchen and set the paper bag on the counter. Mike followed him, doing the same.

Steve turned away from the counter, looking his partner up and down, assessing his condition. Mike was wearing his black Giants t-shirt, beige Dockers and slippers; his hair was mussed and he looked tired. "How are you feeling?" The timbre of his voice had changed and the older man knew the teasing banter was gone, at least temporarily.

Mike smiled reassuringly but he also knew he couldn't, and wouldn't, lie. "I'm sore," he admitted reluctantly, gesturing at his upper chest vaguely, "my back and shoulders… and my neck." He snorted derisively, with a sheepish smile. "I almost timed it perfectly, you know… I mean, I knew I had to put the car in Park or there could be an even bigger accident… and I did that and I almost managed to throw myself down onto the seat before I got hit… but I didn't make it." He raised his right hand to in front of his face, his thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart. "Missed it by that much!" he exclaimed in his best Maxwell Smart impersonation with a grin and a chuckle.

Not rising to the bait, Steve lifted his eyebrows and sighed pointedly, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

Mike cleared his throat and bobbled his head, looking down with a self-conscious smile. "It, ah… it was quite the jolt, let me tell ya…"

Steve, without moving, bit his lip and inhaled. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I saw it."

Mike's head snapped up and his smile wavered then disappeared. He swallowed heavily then found another small grin. "Anyway, ah, I took Rodriguez's advice and I had a good long soak in a hot tub." He chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

Steve smiled as well. "Did it help?"

Mike shrugged, making a face. "Well, I don't feel any worse, so maybe it did. Of course, the Tylenol could have something to do with that too. But I'm not looking forward to tomorrow morning…" He laughed then pointed at the paper bags. "What'd you bring?"

Steve turned and looked at the bags. "Oh, ah, nothing fancy. I went to Jerry's."

Mike's face lit up. "Oh, yeah, that is really going to hit the spot," he said with delight as he clapped his hands and moved closer to the counter, opening an upper cupboard and taking out a couple of plates. "You go wash up and I'll set the table."

Feeling a lot more relieved than when he'd arrived, Steve grinned as he left the kitchen to do as he was told.

# # # # #

The ungodly loud gurgling of someone trying to suck the last of a strawberry milkshake through a large straw filled the small kitchen. Finished, Mike sat back with a satiated smile and a chuckle. He sighed happily. "That really hit the spot, bud-" He stopped himself, biting his lips, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Thanks."

Steve wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, nodding as he swallowed then pushed the plate away, trying not to grin. "You're welcome. I kinda figured we could both use one of Jerry's big hamburgers and shakes."

With a soft nod of agreement, Mike ran a weary hand across his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

"You look tired…"

Snorting quietly, he shrugged slightly as he opened his eyes. "A little. But I had a long nap this afternoon, that you woke me from… I'm okay for awhile longer…"

"Good, 'cause I want to talk to you about tomorrow." Steve pushed the chair back slightly, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms.

Mike tilted his head with a bemused smile. "Sure… let's do it."

Steve nodded. "All right. So, ah, I told Bill this afternoon that I want him and Lee to conduct the interviews… 'cause, you know, you're not going to be there…" He punctuated the statement with a pointed stare. "And my status is… well, I'm not sure what it is, actually." He snorted a sharp laugh and accompanied it with a bewildered shrug. "I mean, I started out being chained to my desk, but that lasted… what? A day? I've been out on the streets ever since and Roy hasn't batted an eye and I'm not sure what the hell Rudy thinks about everything."

Mike laughed. "That's what I'm counting on, after this morning…"

"Yeah. Anyway, I told them I want them to conduct the interviews and I'll just sit in… sort of like you do sometimes… and observe. So the three of us went over everything we have today, and they are so well prepped… you'd be proud of them."

"I already am," Mike said quietly and Steve froze momentarily, looking at the older man almost guiltily.

He shook his head quickly. "That's not what I meant –"

"I know what you meant," Mike cut him off gently with an affectionate smile and they stared at each other for a long second.

Steve swallowed heavily and looked down; he knew only too well how Mike felt about him and sometimes that reality was overwhelming. Smiling, with a whispery self-conscious snort, he raised his head. "Anyway…" he began, drawing the word out, "they both asked for lawyers, so we had to wait for a couple of public defenders to show up –"

"PD's?" Mike interrupted, frowning. "They can afford lawyers, so why did they ask for PD's?

Steve smiled. "They didn't, but that's what we gave them. It was Bill's idea. They, ah, they weren't thrilled, I can tell you that. Both of them asked for their own lawyers, so that took some more time. I know that her mouthpiece arrived before I left but Bayner's still hadn't yet."

Smiling and shaking his head, Mike chuckled, impressed. "That's great, I like that. Putting them both back on their heels from the get-go…"

"Yeah, well, you know, we learned from the best," Steve agreed with a grin and a nod, then continued quickly before Mike could react, "So, anyway, I decided to let them stew overnight in the holding cells and we're going to start with her tomorrow morning. I think she's going to be more vulnerable that he is right now."

The older man frowned slightly and leaned back, folding his arms. "Why do you think that?"

Steve hesitated for a split second, tilting his head. "You don't?"

Mike smiled slightly. "I'm asking you."

The younger man leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, worrying his bottom lip for a moment before he inhaled deeply. "Well… now that you've asked me, I'm not really sure…"

Mike snorted softly and uncrossed his arms, shifting forward in the chair. "We've seen our share of… malicious women over the years, haven't we?" he asked with a gentle chuckle and Steve nodded, eyebrows raised, as images of Mrs. Shaninger, Madame Vasiliev and Anna Marshall came to mind. "I don't want you to underestimate her just because she's a woman."

"I didn't think I was but…" He sat back, still frowning. "Do you think she's the one calling the shots?"

Mike shrugged. "I don't know, but let's look at the facts." He sat forward even more, as if warming to the challenge. "Now, I'm not as well-versed in them as you are, but she was the one who had the affair with Trammel that got this all started, right? So do we know if that was the first time she, ah… strayed…?"

Steve knew it wasn't a completely rhetorical question and he shook his head. "From what we've heard, it probably wasn't."

Mike nodded. "Okay. But her husband might not of known that… we're not sure, are we?"

"No."

"So he goes off the deep end and starts… stalking Trammel." He shrugged again. "So who's to know if she… I don't know, stoked that fire somehow…?"

Steve's eyes narrowed and he stared at his partner silently for a couple of seconds. "You mean… she wanted Bayner to kill Goodman all along… so she used him…?"

Mike raised his eyebrows slowly and smiled enigmatically. "It's something to consider, isn't it?"

Steve sat back, his hands dropping into his lap. He looked down, his stare unfocusing. "Yeah…" he breathed. Then he looked up suddenly. "And that would explain that restaurant lead we got… the dinner and drinks for two that Goodman had two days before Trammel was killed." He tilted his head, working it out. "So, what, she comes to The City, knowing her husband is here looking for Trammel… they go out to dinner together and she maybe tells him something - could be true, could be something she made up - that pushes him over the edge. So instead of maybe going after Trammel just to beat him up…" He looked up at Mike and smiled slightly. "…instead of beating him up, he now wants to kill him…?"

Mike was smiling softly; he nodded slowly. "That's definitely a possibility, isn't it?"

"Yeah… yeah," the younger man said softly. "But it doesn't explain the Chevelle being in the Carlton garage the night of the murder… or the fact that nobody saw someone coming down the elevator and going to the garage, covered in blood. I mean, there had to have been some blood on him. Trammel was a mess."

Mike shrugged vaguely. "Well, what if she was with him?"

Steve's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Did you check out the Carlton to see if there's a staircase that goes from the upper floors straight down to the garage, bypassing the lobby?"

Sitting back abruptly in the chair, the younger man exhaled loudly. "Oh my god, we didn't… at least I didn't. It totally slipped my mind."

"Well, we were busy with, what, two other cases at the time…?" Mike chucked with a grin. "Why don't you give the hotel a call and ask?"

"Yeah, I'll do that…" Steve mumbled, his mind now racing. "So what are you suggesting…? That Carole went up to Trammel's room with Goodman and was with him when the murder happened…?" He sounded more than a little skeptical.

With a facial shrug, Mike leaned back slightly and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Well, maybe… or maybe she just waited in the car, and after Goodman walked down the stairs to the garage, he got in the back seat, where he wouldn't be so noticeable, and they just drove out of the garage."

"But wouldn't that be taking a gamble, what with the attendant being there? I mean, he might have noticed something was amiss… And driving a cherry red Chevelle would be like riding around on an elephant… somebody's bound to notice."

"That's true," Mike conceded, "but maybe that was a miscalculation. Maybe they thought that at 3 in the morning there wouldn't be anyone on duty and they would just sail out undetected…"

Steve leaned back, dropping his right forearm onto the table and drumming his fingers, staring off into space. Mike watched him silently. Eventually the younger man raised his head slightly. "You've given me a lot to think about..."

Mike smiled warmly. "Good. Well, you've got all night to mull it all over."

Steve exhaled loudly. "Yeah, and more time to pick your brain tomorrow morning after we both get a good night's sleep."

The older man frowned. "What, are you coming back here for breakfast?"

With a slowly building grin, Steve finally made eye contact. "No… I'm not leaving tonight."


	81. Chapter 81

He opened his eyes on a darkened room, the barest glow of morning sunlight seeping around the edges of the heavy curtains. He smiled warmly, remembering when his wife had bought those curtains; she was worried that he wasn't getting enough sleep during the day after long nights on the job.

And now he lay there quietly, almost afraid to move, knowing the muscles and joints that had been so sorely tested the day before were most likely going to howl in protest after so many hours of inactivity. He turned his head slowly, feeling the first twinges of discomfort in the muscles at the back of his neck, almost chuckling with the frustrating inevitability.

He started to push himself up on an elbow to reach for the lamp on the nightstand when the ceiling light snapped on and he froze, his eyes shooting the doorway. Steve, already dressed for the day, was standing in the entrance, his hand on the light switch and a soft smile on his face.

Mike frowned. "How long have you been standing there?" he said gruffly, his voice untested.

Taking a couple of steps into the room, the younger man shrugged. "I just walking by… honestly. How do you feel?"

Mike raised his eyebrows with a facial shrug. "I'm not sure yet. I know my neck is sore."

"Well, we were expecting that, right? You want a hand?" He held his right hand out.

Shaking his head, Mike started to push the single sheet away. "No, I better find out how bad it's going to be all on my own, thanks…" He laughed dryly as he pulled his legs free from the sheet, sitting up slowly and dropped them over the side of the bed, wincing. He closed his eyes and arched his back, inhaling sharply.

"How bad is it?"

Putting the back of his right hand on his upper back and grimacing, Mike opened his eyes. He exhaled loudly. "Not great, but nothing a couple of Tylenols can't help." He nodded towards the pile of clothes lying on the nearby armchair. "Can you pass me those, please?"

"Sure," Steve nodded, still worried, picking up the clothes and tossing them on the bed beside the older man.

Mike looked up at him. "Don't you have to go to work?"

The younger man smiled. "I've got a half hour or so." He nodded towards the clothes. "I've got the coffee on and ready to go with some bacon and eggs. Take your time and come on down when you're ready."

Mike stared at him fondly. "Yeah, thanks… I will."

With a confirming nod, Steve turned and headed towards the stairs.

Hearing the footsteps descending the stairs, Mike squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and trying not to gasp as he pressed his right hand against his still healing ribs. It took almost a full minute of short, shallow breaths for the pain to subside enough for him to slowly start getting dressed.

# # # # #

"How's he doing?" Tanner asked without preamble when Steve walked into the bullpen.

Exhaling loudly, Steve cocked his head as he crossed to his desk and took his jacket off. "He's stiff and sore, that's for sure. But thank god that's all he is. He promised me he's going to take it easy all day… and this time I believe him." He chuckled affectionately. "So, ah, what's happening here?"

"Well, Bayner's attorney finally showed up last night just after you left. Brad Stelton. You know him?"

Steve rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh, not that bastard… Mike and I've come up against him before. He's a real pain in the ass."

"Why? Is he that good?"

"Not really, no. He just likes to file continuance after continuance during trials, you know, grinding them to a halt… His track record's not too good but he does get some of his clients off just because the prosecution gets fed up with the continuances and his irritating plea bargains."

"Oh yeah, he's the guy whose puss is plastered on all those bus stop benches in the 'Loin, isn't he?"

"Yeah, that's the guy. Wait till I tell Mike," Steve chuckled. "I wonder why Bayner is using him…? I thought he'd have a lawyer over there in Fremont…" he mused almost to himself, then looked at Tanner. "That might be something to look into as well. Might be nothing but you never know, right?"

"I'll put someone else on that, if that's okay… Lee and I have been working on our strategy for Mrs. Goodman this morning."

"Oh, yeah, and what's that?" Steve asked with a smile.

Tanner grinned. "We're gonna let her hang herself."

"Good plan. But let's Lee, you and me have get together before we start," Steve suggested almost casually. When his colleague frowned, he smiled enigmatically. "Remember I told you I was gonna pick Mike's brain last night? Well, he has a theory that I think we should give some serious consideration to."

# # # # #

His left hand on the arm of the recliner, the right against his chest, Mike lowered himself slowly and gingerly into the chair. Safely down he released the held breath in a rush and closed his eyes. "Damn it," he growled softly, breathing shallowly to try to get the pain under control.

Eventually he opened his eyes, slowly reaching out with his left hand and picking up the phone, putting it on his lap then reaching back for the small piece of paper that it had been sitting on. He picked up the receiver and dialed, a small smile curling his lips.

"Hello, yes, ah, may I speak to Jeannie please?... Yes, yes, I thought she might. That's okay… Yes, could you please tell her her father called… No no, it's not an emergency or anything like that. She's not to worry. Just, umh, can you tell her I just wanted to hear her voice, okay?... Yeah, I'll be home tonight… Thank you very much. Goodbye."

He slowly put the receiver back down on the cradle. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, his eyes moistening. All the optimism of yesterday, in the heady aftermath of being able to thwart Bayner's attempted getaway, was well and truly gone. He closed his eyes. Was it really possible that, after everything he had been through, a scared young rookie would be the one responsible for ending his life as a street cop?

# # # # #

"Well, we have more on him than we have on her, that's for sure but, you know, the more I think about what Mike was talking about last night, the more I'm convincing myself that he's right." Steve was leaning back in one of the hard metal chairs in the Homicide interview room. Tanner and Lessing were across the table, the Bayner and Goodman files laid out before them.

Lessing nodded slowly. "Well, there's no holes in his theory that I can think of at the moment, that's for sure. Bill?" He looked at the man beside him.

Tanner shook his head, frowning slightly. "Not off the top, no. But it probably means we need to rethink our approach to her."

"I agree," Steve nodded, frowning slightly. "She has Bob Delacroix, right?"

Lessing nodded. "Yeah, he's a sharp cookie. A lot sharper than Stelton. We're not going to be able to slip anything by him."

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking," Steve agreed. "So why don't we do this – let's bring Bayner in this morning instead, lay everything out in front of him and Stelton, and see if he turns on Rochford. If we can make it look like we're going for premeditation, and that all the onus is on him, and that we are going to recommend that the D.A.'s office goes for first degree murder under special circumstances and will ask for the death penalty, then I have a feeling any last vestiges of chivalry are going to go right out the window."

Tanner frowned. "I thought you were against the death penalty?"

"I am. But that doesn't stop me from using it as a tool to get a confession, or to ascertain guilt."

"A bluff…" Lessing snorted, nodding his head in impressed agreement. "Yeah, I think that'd loosen my tongue."

"Great. Bill?" Steve looked at Tanner with raised eyebrows.

The tall black detective was frowning slightly, staring unfocused into the space between his two colleagues. Then he started to nod. "Yeah…yeah, I'm liking that a lot." He looked at Steve and smiled. "I'll give Stelton a call right now and arrange to have Bayner brought down from the holding cells." He headed to his desk.

Steve turned to Lessing. "Got those results back from the lab yet about what they found in Bayner's garage?"

Lessing shook his head. "No but I'll go down there and see if they've got anything. It won't be much and we shouldn't count on it, though… you know that, right?"

"Well, if Charlie can match the paint, it'll make it even more of a slam dunk, wouldn't you think?"

"Fingers crossed," Lessing said over his shoulder as he started out the door.

Closing the files but leaving them on the table, Steve got up and headed back across the bullpen to his own desk, circling to the chair. He was just about to sit when he heard his name called and looked up to see Devitt standing in the open door of Mike's office. "Can I see you for a second?" he asked genially, gesturing inside the office with his head.

"Sure," Steve nodded, moving past the captain to drop into the guest chair and smoothing down his tie as Devitt stepped closer to the desk and sat on the corner.

Nodding with his chin at the cast, he asked, "When do you get that off?"

Steve glanced at the beaten up no-longer-white plaster on his forearm and chuckled. "I'm supposed to get an x-ray this week to see how it's coming along but I haven't had time." He shrugged. "It feels great though."

"Good. It'll be nice to have you back… in one piece. I mean, it's not like you've been gone at all, is it? You've been spending more time here lately than just about anybody. So how is the Trammel/Goodman case going?"

Trying to suss out exactly what angle Devitt was taking, Steve smiled vaguely and nodded. "Good, good. Great, actually. We're going to start our interview with Bayner in about an hour and, hopefully, we can get him to turn on Rochford. We're now thinking that she's the brains behind the murder actually."

Devitt frowned. "Which one – Trammel or Goodman?"

"Goodman. Believe me, it's somewhat convoluted but I think we have a good handle on it. And we have so much solid evidence now, including Goodman's body, that we could have this all wrapped up by the end of the day… fingers crossed." He chuckled and Devitt grinned.

"Well, that's good news." He shrugged. "Okay, I'll leave you to it."

"Okay, thanks," Steve smiled, getting to his feet. He was just opening the door when Devitt stopped him.

"Say, ah, can you tell me what Mike was doing with you guys over in Fremont yesterday when you went to arrest Bayner and Rochford?"

Steve froze briefly in the doorway then turned back, the smile remaining but slightly uncomfortable. "Yeah, he, ah, well, he did so much work for us, you know, getting the car painting stuff and then tracking down Goodman's body… I mean, you know that, he was doing all that from my desk, right?"

Devitt nodded. "Umh-humh."

"And you didn't say anything when he and Irene did their… Jehovah's Witness thing, so, I mean, I guess we all thought there'd be no problem with his tagging along yesterday if he didn't have anything to do with the warrants and had no contact with the suspects… and he didn't."

"He didn't?" Devitt asked, eyebrows on the rise, a slight tinge of doubt in his tone.

Shaking his head, Steve grunted. "Nope… he didn't even get out of the car, like I made him promise he wouldn't."

Devitt shrugged with a snort. "Well, good for him. Shows a lot more restraint than I would've given him credit for, that's for sure." He exhaled loudly. "Okay, well, I expect to get that report about yesterday's arrests on my desk soon, right?"

Steve nodded, trying to smile confidently. "Oh, yeah, it's coming… we've just been, well, we've been busy."

"Yeah, I know. Okay, thanks," Devitt dismissed him and the younger man scuttled out the door, closing it behind him with a silent sigh of relief.

He crossed to his desk quickly, picking up the receiver and starting to dial Mike's number. He wanted to warn his partner that Devitt was probably going to be calling him sooner than later. He had almost finished dialing when he heard his name softly called. He looked up.

Mel was standing halfway between the door and his desk.


	82. Chapter 82

Steve stopped dialing, slowly lowered the receiver to the cradle, and straightened up. He turned towards her, inhaling slowly, his face expressionless. Before he could gather himself enough to respond, she smiled nervously, blinking quickly and holding out a large paper bag.

"You, ah, you left some things at my place."

He stared at her for a second then took a step closer, taking the bag with a sharp nod. "Thank you."

A quick nervous smile appeared on her unreadable face again and she nodded once, sharply. He continued to study her; it looked like she wasn't wearing any make-up and hadn't in a long time.

Her blue eyes slid towards Mike's office, widening slightly when she saw Devitt behind the desk. She closed her eyes for a long second as she turned to him again. "Mike's still not back at work?" she asked quietly.

Steve shook his head. "No. It'll be at least another month, maybe more." Even though he knew his words carried a sting, he didn't feel the need, or desire, to elaborate.

She swallowed hard, nodding, avoiding his stare. She nodded towards his left forearm. "How's your wrist?"

He glanced down at the cast, lifting it slightly, and shrugged. "It's doing okay. I might be getting it off next week."

Her brief smile was perfunctory. "That's good," she said without expression. "Well, ah, well I just wanted to give you those," she gestured vaguely towards the bag in his hand. She turned slowly and started back towards the door.

"Mel," he said quickly and she stopped and spun back to him, anticipation and hope so evident on her face. "Ah, thanks for bringing these," he said softly, raising the paper bag slightly.

She stared at him for a long beat, then nodded once again, turned and left the room. He watched her go, standing there for several long seconds before turning to his desk and dropping bag on the floor. He pulled the chair out and sank into it heavily, running his right fingers over his chin as he stared into space.

After a short while, he heard a throat being cleared and a familiar voice speak his name. Devitt was standing beside his desk; he hadn't heard him approach.

"Are you okay?" the captain as softly, frowning in concern.

Steve snorted sharply and nodded. "Yeah… yeah, thanks. Ah, just an expected visitor."

Devitt smiled. "Yeah, that's what I thought. So, ah, you all set for the Bayner interview?" he asked brightly and Steve looked up and smiled. He knew what the captain was trying to do, and he appreciated it. Deflection was something Mike did on a regular basis.

"Yeah, yeah, we're gonna start in about an hour, when Stelton gets here."

"Good, good. Well, let me know how it goes." Devitt turned and headed back into Mike's office.

Steve watched him go then started, sitting up and reaching for the phone, dialing the number that Mel's sudden presence had interrupted. Mike answered on the third ring. "Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Good, good, I'm okay." He could hear the smile in the older man's voice. "I'm still a little stiff, of course, but the Tylenols have kicked in. What's happening?"

"Well, we're going to start questioning Bayner in about an hour. Listen, ah, I just wanted to give you a heads up. Roy asked me this morning why you were with us in Fremont yesterday and –"

"What did you say?" Mike interrupted, sounding just a little anxious.

Steve paused momentarily, surprised at the reaction, then said, "I just told him you'd asked to come along, which I thought was appropriate seeing as you'd done most of the work, you know," he chuckled softly, "and that you stayed in the car, like I'd asked, and that you had no contact with either of the suspects… which is exactly what happened, right?"

There was a short pause on the other end of the line. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Okay…"

There was something in his partner's tone that set off alarm bells. "Why?"

Mike snorted softly. "'Cause I just got off the phone with Roy… he's asked me to come in as soon as I can…"

Steve closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. _'Damn it,'_ he thought, his anger towards Mel flaring up briefly and misguidedly. He cleared his throat, trying to get his tone under control. "So, ah, you okay with that?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'll talk to him. I've got nothing to hide, right?"

"Right… Listen, ah, do you want me to come get you?"

"No," he said quickly, "no, it's okay, I can drive myself in."

"You sure?"

"Umh-humh, don't worry about me. You just concentrate on Bayner and leave the other stuff to me, okay? I'm a big boy, remember, I can take care of myself," he laughed and Steve did as well.

Longingly, the younger man looked towards the inner office, and at the name stenciled in black letters on the door. Still chuckling, he said, "Okay, well, take it easy and I might see you when you get here. If not, ah, I'll drop by tonight, okay, and fill you in on what went down today. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good. How 'bout I thaw out the last of that frozen pot roast Jeannie left for me and we can have that?"

"I'd love that. Okay, well, see you later."

"Yeah."

Steve hung up the receiver and stared at it for several seconds. He looked over at Devitt on the phone in Mike's office and frowned slightly. He knew his partner was more than capable of handling any questions his superiors might throw at him, but that wasn't what was bothering him. The fact that Mike would have to answer those questions at all was what was making him angry at the moment.

By rights, Mike should be the one in his own office, and he should never have had to face what he'd been going through for over a month now. The series of events that had led up to the shooting in the alley would never have happened if just one tiny thing had been altered in the many divergent paths that had culminated in that .38 slug leaving the barrel of the revolver and ripping through his partner's chest.

# # # # #

Stepping past the uniformed sergeant at the door, Steve was the last to enter the small room. The suspect, his lawyer, Tanner and Lessing were already sitting around the wooden table, the detectives on the far side near the wall. Smiling coldly and holding a large file identical to the one open on the table in front of Tanner, Steve sat in a wooden chair in the far corner. Nodding at Stelton, who returned it expressionlessly, he crossed his legs and opened the file in his lap.

From under his brow, he shot a look towards Bayner. If possible, the heavily bandaged man looked even worse than he had yesterday, and Steve found it hard to suppress a smile. Both of his eyes were now black, and the white bandages over his nose and across his forehead stood out in stark, and amusing, contrast.

Biting his upper lip, Steve's eyes settled once more on the first page of the file. This should be short and sweet, he thought.

Tanner cleared his throat and, holding a pencil lightly in both hands, leaned over the table, resting his weight on his forearms. "So, ah, Mr. Stelton," he began pleasantly, glancing at Bayner with a soft smile then nodding down towards the open file, "by now I'm sure you've read through all the evidence we've compiled against your client. And I have to assume that you realize that it's very thorough and incredibly damaging, of course, and it leaves no doubt that Mr. Bayner here was solely responsible for the transportation and subsequent burial of Mr. Goodman's body on his property up near Crescent City, so at the very least we have Mr. Bayner guilty of unlawful disposal of a body.

"And since it has been established beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mr. Goodman was murdered, then one can only assume, and we can also prove, that Mr. Bayner was instrumental in that as well, which warrants a charge of first degree murder with special circumstances or, in other words, a death penalty case." He smiled perfunctorily. "So, Mr. Bayner, do you have anything to say for yourself before we have you arraigned and a court date set?"

Bayner's bloodshot eyes shot wide and his head snapped towards his lawyer. "What..?!" came the terrified reply, muffled by the gauze packing in his broken nose

"Now wait just a minute," Stelton began angrily, ignoring his client and staring at Tanner angrily. "I know what your little ploy is here… you want to bluff my client into confessing –"

"There's no bluff involved here, Mr. Stelton," Tanner interrupted smoothly, glancing briefly at the lawyer with a dismissive smile before staring at Bayner again. "It's all laid out right here." He pointed at the file folder. "I assume you've read it?" He could see the lawyer's jaw tighten at the patronizing tone and he swallowed a smile.

"Yes, of course I read it –"

"Then I don't understand your confusion, Mr. Stelton," Tanner continued, frowning slightly with a shrug. "It seems pretty cut and dried, doesn't it?" He turned to Lessing and shrugged again.

Smiling coldly and leaning forward slightly, Lessing nodded. "It sure does. I mean," he gestured at the folder, "we have the receipt from the hardware store, confirmation of the I.D. from the car dealership that sold the blue paint, the small and obviously overlooked blue paint stain on your otherwise pristine garage floor… and that's just for starters."

"Right," Tanner agreed with a chuckle, taking over the narrative again. "And we're not even warmed up…" He pulled the file closer and flipped a page, pretending to scan it before looking at Bayner again. "And then, of course, there's the matter of the body…" He sat back and folded his arms, staring into the bloodshot eyes sandwiched between the two white bandages and let the uncomfortable silence lengthen.

Bayner's frantic eyes shot to Stelton, who was watching Tanner with a concerned frown, and then briefly passed over Lessing and Steve before settling on Tanner again. He swallowed heavily and loudly.

Shaking his head slowly and uncrossing his arms, the black detective chuckled softly as he looked at the folder. "I mean, really, you rent a car from San Jose? Using your own credit card?" He looked up at Bayner and tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. "Really? You didn't think we would check all the rental car companies on the peninsula and inland?" He tsk-tsked softly before looking down at the folder again.

Lessing shrugged. "And that, of course, doesn't even begin to cover how… absolutely stupid it was to bury Goodman's body on your own property…? I mean, I agree with Bill," he said with feigned incredulity, nodding slighting towards his partner, "what were you thinking? Was that really going to be his final resting place or, what, were you going to go back up there at some time and move him?" His frown deepened and he shrugged. "I mean, I know it's your first time killing someone but …" He looked at Tanner and they both shook their heads in disbelief.

Steve had been watching all this silently and he found it harder and harder to keep a straight face. He had raised his right hand and was slowly tugging at his bottom lip, staring at the file folder on his lap.

"All right, that's enough," Stelton demanded. Bayner's wide and terrified eyes were snapping back and forth between the detectives and his lawyer. Stelton stared at his client silently for a couple of seconds then looked at Tanner and Lessing. "Can you give me some time alone with my client?"

Tanner looked at his partner and they both nodded. "Sure," Lessing agreed and all three detectives got slowly to their feet. Steve opened the door and the others followed him out, closing the door behind them.

Across the room at Steve's desk, they stopped and looked at each other, trying hard to suppress their grins. Tanner shrugged with feigned modesty. "I think that went well," he chuckled softly.

Steve laughed softly. "That was great. Listen, ah, you guys chill, get yourselves some coffee while I bring Roy up to speed and then we'll head back in. If we're really lucky he'll flip on Rochford and this'll all be wrapped up by the end of the day."

# # # # #

Steve let Tanner and Lessing precede him back into the interrogation room. Bayner's head was down, his cuffed hands in his lap. Stelton was making notes on the yellow legal pad on the table in front of him; he waited until the three detectives had settled themselves back in before he put the pen down and raised his head.

"I have some questions to ask before we discuss any charges you may be filing against my client," he stated strongly.

Tanner sat back and nodded obligingly. "All right."

With a confirming nod, Stelton straightened out the pad, his eyes scanning his notes. "Good."

Steve leaned slightly forward. Movement in the bullpen caught his attention and he glanced briefly through the glass. Wearing a dark blue Polo shirt, black pants and his Giants baseball cap, Mike was making his way slowly across the large room to his own office. As he knocked on the door, Devitt shot to his feet and circled the desk to open it. He gestured for Mike to take the guest chair as he closed the door behind him.

As he watched his partner sit slowly and carefully, Steve turned back to the room, but he couldn't hear Stelton's questions over the pounding of the blood in his ears.


	83. Chapter 83

**Yikes - I never thought this story would go this long, and my sincerest apologies ****if it seems never-ending, but it's almost writing itself. Hope I haven't lost too ****many readers to boredom but for those of you hanging in there, many, many thanks!**

"So, how are you feeling?" Devitt asked as he crossed around the desk to sit in the large swivel chair.

Mike sat back in the guest chair carefully, trying not to show any discomfort. "Pretty good, Roy, all things considered. It's been an eventful few weeks," he chuckled gently.

"Yeah, it sure has," the captain said with a nod and a soft laugh as he picked up the phone and dialed two numbers. He listened for a second then said, "Yeah, tell him he's here, please…. Thanks." He hung up, looking across the desk with a slight shrug. "Rudy's going to join us. I hope that's okay."

Mike shrugged. "Sure. Doesn't bother me." He pointed over his left shoulder. "So, ah, how're the interviews going?"

Devitt glanced in the direction of the interrogation room and smiled. "Well, as you know, they've got Bayner dead to rights. They're trying to get him to flip on Rochford. They seem to think it's a slam dunk."

Mike laughed softly. "Well, good for them. There's a lot of young energy in that room this morning. They're not going to let Bayner and that lawyer of his get away with anything."

"No, I wouldn't think so. And that was some pretty slick investigative work you did yourself, as you well know. They wouldn't be in there if you hadn't done what you did out here, so…" He smiled at his colleague, knowing that Mike would never take individual credit for anything he contributed to a case.

There was a light rap on the door and Devitt got up quickly. Mike stood up and moved to the chair further from the entrance as Captain Olsen stepped into the room, nodding at Devitt before extending his hand towards the lieutenant. "Mike, great to see you," he growled pleasantly as they shook hands. "How's the convalescence coming along?"

Chuckling, Mike shook his head with a grin. "I'm doing just fine, Rudy, don't

worry about me."

Devitt had crossed back around the desk and sat, leaning forward and resting on his forearms. Olsen sat in the chair Mike had just vacated, hooking his right arm over the back of the chair as he faced their injured colleague.

His expression guarded, Mike looked from Olsen to Devitt and back again. "So, ah, I gather from your phone call, Roy, that you – both of you – want to know what happened over in Fremont yesterday?"

The two captains exchanged a look as Devitt chuckled self-consciously. "Well, ah, yeah, we have a couple of unanswered questions, I guess you could call 'em. I mean, one of our cars was very badly damaged during the course of the arrests and a suspect was injured, and we'd just like to know… you know… how that happened… And how you were involved…"

Smiling slightly and knowingly, Mike's eyes travelled slowly from Devitt to Olsen. "So what did Steve say in his report?" he asked almost guilelessly.

Devitt chuckled deeply, shaking his head. "You know we can't tell you that… Besides, Steve hasn't seemed to have found the time to fill one out yet…" He exchanged a circumspect smile with Olsen, who could barely swallow his own.

"Ah ha, that's what this is all about…" Mike looked from one to the other again. "You want to see if what I tell you squares with what he's going to write in his report."

Olsen gruffly cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the hard chair. "Something like that, yeah." He exhaled loudly. "Come on, Mike, you know how this works. We've gotta make sure that nothing that happened yesterday can come back to bite us on the ass. You're still on sick leave and you shouldn't've been there in the first place, let alone been involved in a situation like what happened…" He glanced at Devitt, frowning. "Or at least what we think happened. We still don't know the details," he shrugged almost angrily, throwing his hands in the air.

Remaining calm and unflustered, Mike tore his gaze from his suddenly agitated superior to the man who was his temporary replacement. He closed his eyes briefly and nodded once. "All right," he said quietly, "if it makes you happy, I can tell you what happened and… allay all your fears at the same time. Is that what you want to hear?"

Olsen bobbled his head with a pleased grimace on his craggy face. "That's exactly what we want to hear."

"Okay," Mike chuckled, turning slightly on the chair to face them both a little more squarely. "And you're right, I wasn't supposed to be there, but since Steve was going along anyway, and they were hoping to arrest both suspects and they needed two cars to bring them back in…? Anyway, I asked Steve if I could come along. I mean, you know, I did contribute a bit to the mountain of evidence they had against Martin Bayner –"

"More than 'a bit' from what I heard," Olsen interrupted with a chuckle and a smile.

Mike acknowledged the older man's compliment with a quick grateful nod then continued. "So, basically, I badgered him into letting me go along… and he made me promise that, if I did, I would not leave the car at anytime and would have no active part in the arrests. Which is exactly what happened."

Devitt looked at Olsen and frowned. He pursed his lips. "Okay, ah, I understand that, but I'm still a little confused about how the LTD got so damaged, with you in it I'm assuming… if you didn't have anything to do with the arrests."

Mike nodded quickly. "You're right, I didn't have anything to do with the arrests. And the accident? It was just that… an accident…" He looked from Devitt to Olsen with raised eyebrows.

"An accident?" Olsen echoed skeptically.

Mike nodded. He inhaled deeply and raised both hands. "Okay, here's what happened. Steve parked our car on the street perpendicular to the one Bayner lives on and left me there. He said he didn't want me anywhere near the target." He punctuated his words with raised eyebrows and a shrug. "Then he got in the car with Bill and Lee and they disappeared around the corner towards Bayner's.

"So I'm sitting in the car minding my own business and a couple of minutes later, this other car drives by me and I notice it's Bayner behind the wheel. I get on the horn to warn Steve and the others that he's turning up the street towards them but nobody's in the other car, of course. I knew I had to let them know so I got behind the wheel and started to drive towards Bayner's street."

He paused for a moment and swallowed almost subconsciously. "And I was making a left hand turn onto the street when all of a sudden Bayner's car comes screaming towards me and he drives right into the side of my car…" He shrugged again, his brows halfway to the bill of his baseball cap.

Olsen looked briefly at Devitt. "So you, ah, you were turning onto Bayner's street when he hit you?" he asked slowly.

"Umh-humh," Mike nodded.

"And you weren't, ah, you weren't using the car to block the street…?"

Mike frowned. "Block the street?" He paused for a split second before shaking his head sharply. "I didn't have time to think of that. Why? Did someone say that I used the car to block the street?"

Olsen glanced at Devitt, who cleared his throat briefly with a facial shrug before admitting, "Well, ah, Bayner's lawyer may have mentioned something about that…"

"How does _he_ know what happened?"

Olsen tilted his head. "Bayner musta told him, I guess."

"Well, I didn't block the street," Mike defended himself. "Besides, I didn't hit him – he hit me. I was making a left-hand turn when he ran into me. And if you don't believe me, get a copy of the Fremont traffic report. I'm sure they've got it all written down." He looked pointedly at Devitt, who turned to Olsen and shrugged.

"Besides," Mike added confidently, warming even more to the subject, "if I'm not mistaken, my car was beyond the stop sign on Bayner's street when he hit me. Which means, I do believe, that he was running the stop sign when he plowed into the side of my car." He furrowed his brow impishly and cocked his head slightly. "So, ah, so how does that make it _my_ fault?"

Olsen stared at his old friend, his expression unreadable. "So you're telling us that what happened with you, the department's LTD and Bayner yesterday was just a simple car accident?"

Mike stared back evenly. "Why, you going to put me under oath?" he challenged, putting a sudden charge into the room.

Devitt's eyes were snapping back and forth between them as he held his breath.

The tense standoff stretched into several long seconds and then the older man blinked. Growling, his brow furrowed, Olsen leaned back, looking at Devitt and slowly shaking his head. "Well, I'm satisfied," he said under his breath. "I've got real work to do." As he started to get to his feet, he looked at his lieutenant again. "Listen, ah, I'm glad you're okay. And, ah, you get yourself healthy and get back here, okay? I hate this being down a man with all the staff shortages we still have in the department." He looked at Devitt. "I'll talk to you later." He left the office, still growling to himself.

After Olsen closed the door, Devitt turned to Mike and chuckled dryly. "Sorry about all that, but we had to get things cleared up. You know how it is…"

Nodding slowly, Mike got to his feet. "Yeah, I know exactly how it is."

Devitt extended his right hand. "Thanks for coming in, Mike. Take care of yourself and, ah, like Rudy said, get back here soon, okay?"

"Yeah," Mike agreed, shaking his hand, "I'm planning on doing just that." He nodded in the direction of the interrogation room again. "I wonder how they're doing…?" he mused.

Devitt followed his gaze and nodded. "Well, they seem to have a really good grasp of everything so I think we can leave it in their capable hands, don't you?"

Mike continued to stare at the small glass-walled room against the far wall. "Yeah… and that's what I'm starting to realize…" he said under his breath before turning to Devitt with a broad smile. "I'll see you, Roy," he said with strained joviality as he opened the door and started slowly across the bullpen.

Devitt stood in the open doorway and watched him go, knowing that the Mike that was walking away was not the same man whose name was on the glass.

# # # # #

The interrogation room door opened and Steve led Tanner out of the room. Steve crossed to the inner office, knocking then opening the door. Devitt looked up. "How did it go?"

"Oh, ah, great. Bayner just turned on Rochford. We're going to bring her in as soon as we can get her up here with her mouthpiece. Listen, ah, Mike gone already?"

"Yeah, he left about five minutes ago."

Leaving the door open, Steve turned and started quickly across the bullpen.

"What's going on?" he heard Devitt call after him but he was already out the door and heading for the elevators. He glanced at the floor indicator then took off for the stairs.

Getting to the ground floor, he sprinted through the doors into the crowded lobby and down the corridor to the exit for the outside parking lot. He knew Mike liked to park in the side lot.

He slammed through the heavy metal door onto the landing, scanning the crowded parking lot from the elevated staircase for some glimpse of his partner's dark blue sedan. He jogged down the steps onto the pavement and sprinted in the direction he knew Mike usually parked. Spotting the familiar taillights, he slid to a stop; he could see his partner behind the wheel.

He opened the passenger side door and slipped onto the seat, surprising his partner, who had just stuck the key in the ignition. Steve grinned. "Glad I caught you. I didn't think you were going to leave so quick. How did it go?"

Mike flashed a smile. "Fine. They believed me." He chuckled dryly. "I guess I didn't give them much choice."

Steve exhaled loudly, genuinely relieved. "That's good. That really is." He started to smile then stopped. He could see a fine sheen of sweat on the older man's face. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Mike pursed his lips and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," he assured, trying to sound nonchalant.

Steve stared at him silently for a long second. "You're not, are you?"

Mike's brow slowly furrowed; he closed his eyes and shook his head. "It really hurts," he almost gasped, inhaling sharply.

"Your ribs?"

Gritting his teeth, Mike nodded. "I think the Tylenol's wearing off."

"How many are you taking?"

The older man snorted. "Too many…."

Steve dropped his head and sighed sadly. "Wait here," he ordered quietly. "I'm gonna go back upstairs and tell Bill what's going on. Then I'll come back down and drive you home… Okay?"

Lines of pain now evident on his face, Mike closed his eyes and nodded. "Okay…"


	84. Chapter 84

Steve looked across the front seat; Mike's head was back, his eyes closed under the lowered black baseball cap. He turned the car onto De Haro and started the steep climb, pulling to the curb in front of the house about halfway up the block. He shifted into Park and turned the engine off. "We're here," he said softly.

Mike nodded without opening his eyes but he didn't move.

"Can you get out?"

Mike snorted dryly. "I'm not sure," he whispered but made no effort to move.

"Want me to go up and get the bottle of Tylenol?"

This time Mike actually chuckled and he opened his eyes slowly. "I don't think it's that bad," he said softly, turning his head against the seat to smile at his partner. "Let's give it a try, shall we?" He slowly reached out and opened the door.

Steve shot out of his side and circled the car at a jog, pulling the heavy passenger door open so the injured man didn't have to struggle uphill with it. With a grateful grunt, Mike turned in the seat, planting his feet on the sidewalk then, with Steve's assistance, pushing himself up, his eyes closed and breath held. He gasped slightly as he straightened up, stood stockstill for a few long seconds then, with a nod, started towards the concrete steps.

"I'll park the car and be right up," Steve confirmed as he circled the car to the driver's side.

Mike turned slowly towards him, his right hand on the railing. "Don't you have to go back to work?"

Steve looked over the roof. "Bill and Lee have everything under control. They don't need me, I've trained them well," he smiled with a laugh as he opened the door and got back in.

Mike dropped his head, trying to smile as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. He started slowly up the stairs, the pain in his chest getting sharper with every step. He was almost halfway up when he felt Steve's hand on his elbow. By the time they got to the top step, Steve had the house key in his hand and opened the door quickly, ushering Mike in first.

"Look, ah, why don't you lie on the couch and I'll bring you a couple of pills."

Nodding, trying to breath through the pain, Mike shuffled deeper into the room and sat while Steve jogged into the kitchen, returning only seconds later, it seemed, with the pills and small glass of water. After swallowing the pills, Mike took off his baseball cap and put it on the seat cushion beside him before he rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. Steve set the empty glass on the coffee table, keeping his worried eyes on his partner.

"Is it just your ribs?"

Mike nodded. "The rest of me is pretty sore too but I can handle that…"

"When did it start to get so bad?" he asked quietly and heard Mike snort softly.

"This morning," he whispered, "when I woke up…"

"So… you lied to me when I asked you how you felt…?"

Mike opened his eyes and looked at him guiltily. "I didn't want you to worry…"

Steve felt the back of his throat tighten.

"And I knew you had a big day today… I wanted you thinking straight…" Mike raised his head. "Listen, I'm okay. You should go back to the office –"

"I'm not going anywhere… at least not right now. I'll go home a little later and pick up some things because I'm not gonna leave you alone, and you're not going anywhere… not until you're okay. And I don't mean just until you're feeling better…" His stare was sober and direct.

After several long seconds, Mike laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. The ghost of a self-conscious smile played over his lips.

"Have you eaten anything since breakfast?"

Mike shook his head slightly.

"You want something?"

"No… thanks… I just want to sit here and not move for awhile."

Steve got up quietly and headed upstairs, reappearing with a couple of pillows and a light blanket. As Mike watched, he moved the baseball cap to the coffee table and set the pillows on one end of the couch. "Lie down," he ordered and Mike, holding his breath, his right hand against his chest, slowly stretched out, closing his eyes when his head touched the pillow, feeling the comforting warmth of the blanket as it settled over him.

Steve sat in the armchair and waited until he was sure his partner was asleep, then took the address book out of the small drawer under the phone and tiptoed up the stairs to the master bedroom.

# # # # #

There was a soft knock on the front door. Putting the Time magazine down on the coffee table, Steve got up from the recliner and crossed quietly in his stockinged feet to the answer it. He pulled the heavy door open on a tall gray-haired man in a dark gray suit and carrying a black satchel. He smiled gratefully. "Dr. Reynolds, thank you again."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Mike's doctor entered the darkened living room. "I'm glad you called. And, like I said, I'm not surprised." He had glanced into the living room and seen his patient lying on the couch. "He's been asleep since you called?"

"Yeah," Steve said, closing the door and following the doctor into the room.

"Well, let's wake him up," Reynolds chuckled, putting his satchel on the coffee table. "It's easier to do an examination on an awake patient."

With a smile, Steve leaned over the couch and touched Mike's shoulder, shaking him lightly and calling his name. The older man opened his eyes and moaned softly. "Hey, ah, there's someone here to see you…"

Reynolds could hear a muffled and confused, "Who…?" coming from the couch and he laughed.

"It's me, Mike."

The injured lieutenant's eyes opened wider and, as Steve lifted the blanket, he struggled to sit up without grimacing, shaking his head as if to clear it. "What are you doing here?" he asked sluggishly.

Nodding at the younger man, Reynolds grinned. "He was worried about you and wanted me to give you a once over. And seeing as it would be easier for Muhammad to come to the mountain, so to speak, here I am."

Mike was sitting on the edge of the couch, frowning at his partner, who was watching at him with a no-nonsense glare.

"I'm going to need to you take off that t-shirt," Reynolds nodded towards Mike with his chin as he opened the satchel and took out his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. "Steve told me what happened yesterday. So let's see how much damage you did to yourself, shall we?"

# # # # #

Reynolds turned back to Steve at the door. "Give me a call if anything changes, but he should be okay if he takes it really easy for a couple of weeks. Make sure he keeps those ribs taped for the next few days; that'll help with the pain. And get that prescription filled as soon as you can. The Demerol will work a lot better than the Tylenol but make sure he takes them only as directed."

"Right, I will. And I'll get that done as soon you as leave. Again, thank you so very much. I think I needed your visit as much as he did," Steve chuckled, relieved that things were not as bad as they had seemed.

Reynolds laughed softly. "Oh, ah, I've been meaning to ask," he nodded at the cast. "From the looks of that beaten-up thing, I'm assuming you're getting it off soon?"

Steve held the cast up and chuckled. "Hopefully in a couple of days."

"Dare I ask?" Reynolds winced.

Steve grinned. "Baseball bat."

"Ouch. Sounds painful."

"It was – at the time. Doesn't hurt at all now."

"That's the way it works," the doctor laughed as he started down the stairs. "You take care of yourself as well as him, okay? And call if you need me."

"I will, Doc. Thanks again." Steve shut the door and walked back into the room.

His t-shirt back on, Mike was lying down again. He had pulled the blanket up and his eyes were closed. Steve sat on the coffee table. "Feel any better?"

A soft moan emanated from the couch. "Yeah… a little… I think the bandage helps, as long as I don't breath too deeply…"

Smiling and chuckling, Steve reached out and touched his arm. "Listen, ah, Doctor Reynolds gave me a Demerol prescription that I have to go get filled. You going to be okay on your own here for a bit? I want to get us some more groceries too and stop by my place for some clothes."

Mike smiled warmly. "Yeah, I'll be just fine…" He stared at the grinning young man, his eyes brightening. "Thanks," he whispered.

Steve winked. "Anytime," he chuckled as he got to his feet and started for the door. He picked up his keys and jacket then turned back to look at the figure on the couch. He took a deep breath and smiled, feeling just a little more optimistic than he'd had in weeks, it seemed.

# # # # #

He woke gradually, slowly realizing he was on his back on his own sofa. He tried to take a deep breath, feeling the gentle, even pressure around his rib cage. He dragged his left hand onto his chest and touched the tensor bandage through his t-shirt.

He let his head sink even deeper into the pillow, his eyes closed, every muscle aching, or so it felt. He had never felt so exhausted, in mind and body, in his life. He never wanted to move again, he thought with a dry chuckle, then winced; even that hurt a little.

He could hear the occasional muted sounds coming from the direction of the kitchen and knew Steve was puttering around. The last thing he remembered was the young man waking him briefly so he could swallow a Demerol pill but he couldn't remember how long ago that had been.

He thought he could hear the back door opening and closing every once in awhile but he couldn't be certain. And, to be perfectly honest, he didn't have the energy, or the curiosity, to find out at the moment. He just wanted to lie there forever, he thought.

He wasn't sure how long he had been drifting in and out, listening to the sounds of the house, and his best friend, before he heard the soft, "Are you awake?" and he smiled gently. "Uhm-humh…"

"Good." He heard the warm chuckle. "Are you getting hungry?"

Mike slowly opened his eyes; Steve was standing over him, grinning. His smile widened. "A little…"

"Good. I'm using your bar-b-que; I'm making shish-kabobs and rice." He chuckled. "It's almost done."

"That sounds great," Mike mumbled, his eyes closing again, "but I really don't want to move…" There was the tiniest hint of whimsy in his voice and Steve chuckled.

"Well, you don't have to if you don't want to. I've got a breakfast tray all set up for you and I'll just bring it in when everything's ready… How does that sound?"

Mike chuckled softly, lifting his head from the pillow and opening his eyes. "That sounds wonderful… if I didn't have to go to the bathroom and wash my hands…"

Steve smiled warmly. "How many times have I told you, you need to get a bathroom down here?""

Mike chuckled again, starting to push the blanket off. "Ha ha," he mouthed. Squeezing his eyes shut, and with Steve's help, he sat up and got to his feet. "Well, that wasn't as bad as I was expecting. I'm always impressed with how much pain one tiny little Demerol pill can overcome…" He looked at the younger man and smiled warmly. "I'll be right back." He started slowly towards the staircase.

"Take your time," Steve cautioned, heading back to the kitchen. He could hear Mike making his way slowly up the stairs, and he leaned against the counter, closing his eyes. He couldn't shake the heavy mantle of guilt that he had been shouldering from the moment he'd heard Haseejian's frantic voice on his answering machine. And no matter how many times his partner assured him that what happened wasn't his fault, he knew he wouldn't believe that until Mike was completely healthy and back to work.

And, he vowed, from this moment on, he would be by his partner's side until that happened. It was the least he could do… for both of them.


	85. Chapter 85

"My god, that was good," Mike said with a heavy-lidded smile as Steve picked up the tray and headed towards the kitchen. "You're becoming quite the chef, buddy boy…"

The hitch in Steve's stride was the only reaction to the other man's use of the forbidden sobriquet, and he was grinning when he set the tray on the kitchen counter. "Thank you!" he called over his shoulder.

Sitting on the couch, trying valiantly to keep his eyes open, Mike was drowsy but not so out of it that he'd forgotten about the reason behind the sudden elevation of his partner's culinary skills. He realized discretion was the better part of valour at the moment and knew he had to change the subject. "Listen, ah, I'll be okay by myself tomorrow… Why don't you head into the office and help them wrap up the Trammel case…?" Steve had stuck his head out the kitchen doorway and was staring at him expressionlessly. When Mike caught sight of him, his voice trailed off. "What…?"

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere. Bill and Lee have got the whole case well in hand, and if they have a problem, they'll call me."

"But…?" Mike sighed with a small, almost hopeless shrug, as if trying to encourage and apologize at the same time.

With a growl of impatience, stepping further into the living room to stand in front of the coffee table and glare at his partner, Steve said firmly, "I know what you're trying to say… that you want me to finish this case that has taken up so much of our time and attention lately. And that it was our case from the very start and you want me to see it through to the end." He smiled slightly and shook his head. "And I appreciate that, Mike, I really do… but it's over… We got them, didn't we? All of us… the team. And the rest of the team can bring it to a close… they don't need us."

Mike closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, and instantly Steve realized that he had said precisely the wrong thing. And he also knew, at the exact same moment, what had been troubling his partner for the past few weeks. He stared at the older man for a few seconds then asked softly, "That's what this all about, isn't it?"

After a long silent moment, Mike opened his eyes and looked at him. He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting away, his features crumbling slightly as he slowly and sadly nodded.

The phone rang. Both of them jumped slightly, turning their heads to glare at it, at it's intrusive and unwelcome interruption. Then Mike closed his eyes again and exhaled loudly. "Jeannie…" he said almost sadly, looking up at his partner. "I called this morning… left a message for her to call me tonight…"

With Steve continuing to stare at him expressionlessly, he picked up the phone, putting it on his lap and lifting the receiver. "Hello?... Hi, sweetheart!... Yes… No, no, everything's fine… No, I'm not just saying that… Yeah, Steve and I have been very busy… Oh, you know, the usual. Summer in San Francisco, you know how it is… Yeah… Yeah, sure… So, ah, how are you doing? How was your week?..."

Steve slowly wandered back into the kitchen, leaving father to talk to daughter; he knew how much Mike needed to hear Jeannie's voice. He set about cleaning up the dinner dishes, hearing the murmur of his partner's warm and loving tone, punctuated by the occasional soft laugh. After awhile he heard Mike call his name and he returned to the living room.

The older man was holding the receiver out. "Jeannie'd like to talk to you for a second," he announced with raised eyebrows, both an entreaty and a warning Steve knew.

Taking the phone, Steve grinned. "Jeannie, how's it going down in San Diego?... Yeah, I bet it's hot. But you're having fun, right?... I see, so 'fun' is not the right word…" He laughed and Mike's proud smile got a little wider. "An extra week?..." He looked at Mike and raised his eyebrows; the older man nodded sadly. "Well, that's great. I guess they really like your work… Yeah, well, we'll miss you too but we'll have a big bar-b-que or whatever when you get home. I'll show off my new culinary skills… Yes, I've been impressing your father…" His wide smile wavered and disappeared. "Yeah, ah, yeah, I've been learning a lot from Mel… Yeah, I will, I'll tell her… Listen, ah, I gotta help your Dad clean up and then I'm gonna head home, we have a busy day tomorrow… Yeah, me too… Here he is…"

He handed the phone back with raised eyebrows and Mike took it with a sober nod. They were both keeping things from his daughter.

"Yeah, sweetheart, you heard the man, we have a busy day tomorrow… You too, hunh?... Okay, well, how about you give me a call over the weekend, hopefully I'll get a day off, and you can tell me all about that new project… Yeah, I'd love that… Okay, so you take care of yourself and have fun… Yeah, we will too, I promise… Love you, sweetheart… Okay… Bye-bye." Mike dropped the receiver onto the cradle then sat silently for several long seconds, staring at nothing.

Steve leaned over and picked the phone up, putting it back on the end table. "So she's staying down there an extra week?"

Without looking up, Mike nodded. "Yeah… yeah, they really like her work, I guess." He raised his head, his eyes bright, and he smiled sadly. "That's good for her, it really is. But it means I'll only have her home for two weeks before she has to go back to Arizona."

"Yeah," Steve began slowly, "but it also means you have one more week to get better before she sees you and figures out that you've been hiding something from her all summer. Have you thought of that?"

Mike raised his eyebrows quickly with a soft snort. "You always see the silver lining, don't you?"

Smiling smugly, Steve turned to head back to the kitchen. "Who do you think I learned that from?" He turned back at the door. "I put the percolator on. It won't be long."

They had acknowledged to themselves that Jeannie's call had interrupted a tense moment between them, both standing on the precipice of a topic that neither one of them wanted to delve into at the moment, but one they also knew couldn't, and shouldn't, be skirted for long. But things were still too raw for either of them; they needed the healing balm of time if they were going to be able to express themselves without letting their frayed emotions upend their relationship.

Mike sat perfectly still, trying not to move, trying not to think. So much had happened since he had sent his daughter off to San Diego almost five weeks ago, most of it not good. He had come so very close to never seeing her again, he reluctantly conceded, but if he was really lucky she would never know.

Steve came slowly into the room with a large mug in his right hand. He set it carefully on the coffee table with a growl. "I'll be so glad when I get this thing off and I can carry more than one thing at a time," he chuckled dryly as he headed back to the kitchen, reappearing seconds later with his own cup. As Mike leaned forward carefully to pick his up, the younger man settled into the armchair.

"That's good," Mike said softly with a contented moan after he took to the first sip. "I need this." He looked at his young friend and smiled warmly.

Steve nodded before taking his own first sip. He knew the moment was gone, that neither of them were in the necessary space to even begin to discuss what they were going through. But he wasn't worried; that time would come again. And now that he had made the decision that his first priority was to be here for as long as it took to get Mike back to being Mike, a cautious, assuaging calm had begun to slowly creep into his worried mind.

They sat in a companionable silence for a couple of very long minutes, sipping their coffees, before Steve looked at the older man with a gentle smile. "So, ah, you seem comfortable sleeping down here… you want to stay on the couch tonight or move upstairs?"

Mike looked at him through sleepy eyes under a lowered brow. He chuckled gently with a soft smile. "I really don't want to move at all if I don't have to but unless you've moved that damn bathroom down here already, I think that decision is no longer mine to make."

Steve laughed quietly, bobbing his head slightly. "Sorry… it's still upstairs."

The older man chuckled again. "Get on that, will ya?" he joked, cradling the mug in both hands as he let his head drop back onto the couch and closed his eyes.

Steve watched him silently for a couple of seconds. "How are you feeling?"

"I think the Demerol is starting to wear off."

"You can't take another one for an hour, sorry. Doctor's orders…"

Mike smiled, keeping his eyes closed. "I know… I'll be okay…" He raised the cup and took a sip. "Hey, ah, did you talk to Bill or Lee about what happened with Mrs. Goodman today?"

Steve chuckled and sat forward, putting his mug on the coffee table. "Yeah, ah, they brought her in with that slick mouthpiece of hers. Bill said they're going to charge her with murder tomorrow morning but Gerry's still mulling over the degree."

Mike had opened his eyes and was looking at him. "So she confessed?"

"I'm not sure about that. Bill seemed a little pressed for time when I was talking to him but he said after they get her charged and arraigned tomorrow, he and Lee would come by and tell us all about it in person." He knew this was what his partner wanted to hear, and he smiled warmly. "How does that sound?"

Mike laughed softly. "Yeah, I like that. That'll be great." His smile widened. "You did great, you know that right? This wasn't an easy case, not by any stretch of the imagination, but you stayed on top of it the whole way."

Steve, who was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, lifted his head, straightening up, but Mike stopped the protest he knew would be coming.

"Don't be modest. You and Bill and Lee, you did a hell of a job, all three of you. And those rookies of Lee's…? You gotta promise me you'll make sure they get credit for everything they did. Those kids are gonna go far in the department, they really are." He chuckled softly to himself, looking down at the cup in his hand before taking another sip. He closed his eyes again; he looked tired and drained.

Staring, frowning, Steve's embarrassed smile wavered; Mike's words worried him more than anything else at the moment. There had been an almost defeatist tone in what he had said, a frightening acceptance of a life-changing shift that he seemed to think was coming and for which he was totally unprepared.

Mike opened his eyes, leaning forward slowly and carefully to putt his mug on the table, shifting to sit on the edge of the sofa. He glanced at the younger man with a small smile. "I think I'm gonna head upstairs and get into bed. By the time I get everything done, it'll probably be time for that pill, wouldn't you think?" he chuckled as he put his left hand on his chest, his right on the sofa arm to push himself up, holding his breath and closing his eyes.

Steve got up as well, putting a hand on Mike's left elbow to steady him. The older man looked at him with a reassuring smile. "I'll be okay," he said quietly as he shuffled slowly towards the staircase.

Steve watched him go, resisting the urge to follow. He didn't want to make Mike feel any more helpless and dependent than he knew the older man already felt. He picked up the cups and took them to the kitchen, dumping the coffee dregs into the sink. He resisted the urge to slam them on the counter in frustration.

He knew they needed to talk but now was not the time. It was obvious that Mike was too tired and in too much pain to think straight at the moment. Hopefully the opportunity would present itself tomorrow.

He busied himself in the kitchen until it was time for another Demerol. Pill bottle in his pocket and a small glass of water in hand, he climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. Mike had managed to change into his pajamas and was lying in bed, the small lamp on the nightstand illuminating the room. He opened his eyes when Steve entered, pushing himself up slightly to take the glass and the pill. He settled back down on the pillow, closing his eyes with a soft, "Thanks."

Steve put the glass on the nightstand, turned off the lamp and sat in the chair he had pulled closer, staring at the man in the bed. Slowly, Mike's left hand slid across the blanket towards him. He reached out, wrapping his hand around his partner's and squeezing, feeling the warm fingers tighten around his own with a disturbing desperation.


	86. Chapter 86

He woke with a start; sunshine was peaking around the corners of the blackout curtains and the bedroom door was wide open. He could hear muted sounds coming from the lower floor, someone moving around in the kitchen. He smiled gently to himself; it felt good to have another heartbeat in the house again.

He took as deep a breath as he dared, testing his ribs against the tensor bandage encircling his chest. It was still extremely painful but it was a pain he could deal with as long as the regular doses of Demerol kept coming and he didn't do anything to aggravate them again. All things considered, he knew he had gotten off lucky during these past few weeks.

He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, smiling when the mouth-watering smell of pancakes reached his nostrils. He could hear footsteps ascending the stairs and he opened his eyes and looked towards the door as Steve stepped into the room. The younger man had a fresh glass of water in his right hand.

"Well, good morning," he smiled, setting the glass on the nightstand and slipping the small plastic bottle of Demerol out of his shirt pocket. "How do you feel?"

Mike smiled and nodded, trying not to wince as he pushed himself up slightly. "Good… I slept really well, I think…"

"How's your chest?" Steve asked as he popped the top off the bottle and tipped a pill out.

Mike bobbled his head. "Sore, but nothing I can't handle." As Steve handed him the pill then the glass of water, he glanced at the clock/radio. "It's 8:30?" he asked, sounding appalled. He'd always been an early riser.

"Yeah," Steve nodded with a chuckle. "Listen, ah, I found your pancake recipe and I tried my luck. I think they turned out great, if I do say so myself." He took the glass back. "You feel up to trying a couple?"

Mike sniffed the air. "Of course. They smell great." He sat up a little higher, reaching for the blanket to pull it aside.

"Ah ah ah," Steve said quickly, "you're not going anywhere." He stopped and fixed his partner with a hard stare. "I need you to do me a favor, Mike. Other than trips to the bathroom, I want you to promise me you'll spend the day in bed…"

Mike had frowned, not sure what was going to be asked of him, and now he relaxed. He snorted, nodding, as he closed his eyes briefly. "I promise. I was thinking about that myself, actually…" He cocked his head. "But didn't you say Bill and Lee were going to stop by at some point today?"

"Yeah… I haven't talked to either of them yet, but, yeah, I think so."

"Well, I want to be up and dressed for that." Mike looked almost desperate and the younger man chuckled.

"Yeah, I can make an exception for that. Listen, ah, do what you have to do," he nodded in the direction of the bathroom down the hall, "and then get yourself back in bed and I'll bring the pancakes up when they're ready."

# # # # #

"Wow, I have to admit, that Bob Delacroix is one pretty damn good lawyer, just like everybody told us," Tanner chuckled dryly with a shake of his head as Steve and Lessing came through the kitchen door with mugs of coffee. Lessing handed Tanner one, while Steve passed the mug in his hand to Mike then returned quickly to the kitchen to retrieve his own.

Nodding his thanks to his partner, Mike fixed his blue-eyed stare back on Tanner. "This your first time up against him?"

"Yeah," the black detective nodded as Lessing settled onto the couch beside him and Steve sat on the chair he had brought in from the kitchen. "Won't be the last time, I'm sure of that."

"I went up against him once, when Dan and I handled the Foster case last year. He almost got him off," Lessing offered with an annoyed dry snort.

"So what happened with Mrs. Goodman?" Steve asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Tanner grinned. "Well, like I said on the phone, it's all up to Gerry right now to see if he wants to go with first degree with special circumstances or just second. I know he won't go below second 'cause he knows it was premeditated. So…?" He shrugged.

Lessing leaned forward and put his cup on the coffee table. "It took us awhile to convince her we had her and Bayner dead to rights… she kept saying it was all Bayner's idea and he did all the planning, that she was scared of him so she just played along…"

"And she was devastated when Bayner killed her husband…" Mike added facetiously and they all laughed.

"Yeah, exactly," Lessing nodded, grinning.

"What changed her mind?" Steve asked.

"Well, that receipt from the restaurant really rattled her. She wasn't expecting that. Especially when we sort of suggested we had a waiter that could confirm it was her…"

Lessing raised his eyebrows and grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Which we don't, of course," he chuckled.

"And we also sort of vaguely alluded that the garage attendant could I.D. her as well from when she drove the Chevelle out of the hotel at 3 a.m…."

"Which we also can't confirm," Steve added with a snicker.

Nodding, Tanner continued, "And then we hit her with the fingerprints on the steering wheel and rearview mirror of the Chevelle –"

"Which Delacroix said meant nothing as she was the owner's wife and routinely drove the car," Lessing interjected.

"But then we told him that her fingerprints were on top of his in both places, which meant she was the last one to drive the car… He had no comeback for that one," Tanner chuckled evilly and the others grinned and nodded. "Then, of course, there was the little matter of her living with Bayner –"

"Which shows more chutzpah than common sense," Mike offered dryly, shaking his head in disbelief at the stupidity of the move.

"Yeah, that's for sure." Steve looked from his partner to his colleagues. "So if all that didn't, ah, tell her we knew what she and Bayner had done… what did?"

"Well, ah," Tanner shrugged, "we hit her with that little theory we'd put together about what happened. What we _think _happened… We just didn't say 'think', that's all…" He chuckled wickedly.

"So, ah, what 'theory' is that?" Mike asked with an anticipatory smile, cradling his long-forgotten coffee cup in his lap in the recliner.

"Oh you know – the one where she played Goodman against Trammel, using her husband to kill her lover, then using her new lover… Bayner… to kill her husband…" He glanced at Lessing and they both grinned. "We started calling her The Black Widow…"

His jaw dropping open slightly, Steve shot a look at his partner, whose eyebrows had risen and who was staring at his men with unabashed admiration. They both laughed.

"Oh, yeah, and that one of the mistakes she made was thinking she could just drive out of the Carlton at 3 in the morning without anybody seeing her or the bright red Chevelle, but that she'd miscalculated…" Tanner filled in a blank.

"And that's why they – she and Bayner, that is – had to paint the car, 'cause the attendant would most likely remember a bright red Chevelle with a woman behind the wheel," Lessing elaborated.

"So have either of you figured out who actually killed Goodman… and where they did it?" Mike asked.

Both detectives on the couch shook their heads. "Nah, we haven't got that yet, but I think if Gerry goes for first degree with special circumstances, and premeditation, then that means we can dangle the death penalty in front of them, and for sure one of them is going to rat on the other. We're thinking, of course, that she talked Bayner into killing Goodman just like she talked her husband into killing Trammel but…?" Tanner shrugged.

"Well, either way we've got 'em both dead to rights on conspiracy," Steve said slowly, nodding to himself, "but you know, if it hadn't been for those stupid slip-ups, we might not've gotten them." He looked at his partner and raised his brows.

Mike nodded. "Yeah, you're right. It was actually pretty well thought out. But the bigger and more desperate it got – painting the car and then dumping it, Bayner burying the body on his own property…" He shrugged. "Well, it really was just a matter of time… but you've all done exemplary work on this. This is a strong, solid case, fellas, I'm very proud of everybody."

All three inspectors grinned back at him, exchanging looks and nods.

Steve looked at Lessing. "Lee, those two rookies you used…? Have you said or done anything for them…?" Peripherally he could see Mike glance at him and smile.

"I'm having Rudy issue them commendations and their promotions are being fast-tracked. They're going to be taken care of, don't worry. They went above and beyond for us, they really did."

"Good," Steve approved and Mike nodded.

The older man raised his coffee cup. "Gentlemen, to a job very well done. Congratulations!" He lowered the recliner and, trying not to show any discomfort, leaned as far forward as he dared, holding out his cup. The others leaned towards him and they all clinked cups, chuckling and nodding.

# # # # #

"So we'll see you back in the office when you're ready, Mike. And don't worry, we'll, ah, we'll keep the ship on course till you get back."

"I know you will," the older man smiled from the recliner as Steve ushered the two detectives to the door.

"Thanks for coming by to do this, guys," Steve said quietly as he held the door open and Tanner and Lessing stepped out onto the landing.

Tanner turned back, frowning, and jerked his head sharply for Steve to follow. With a quick furtive glance over his shoulder at the older man, who had lain his head against the back of the recliner and closed his eyes, Steve stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him.

Tanner's dark eyes darted in the direction of the bay window. "Steve, he looks likes shit. He looks a helluva lot worse than he did just a couple of days ago. Is he okay?"

Lessing was staring at him as well, just as disturbed as his partner. Steve glanced down, slowly shaking his head in frustration. "I know, I know, he's not doing too well right now."

Tanner leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "What's going on? Is it the chest wound or what?"

Steve nodded slightly. "It's his ribs. Every time they start to heal, he reinjures them. First down in Palm Springs and then in the car accident…" He swallowed heavily and exhaled loudly. "I had his doctor here to see him yesterday and he's all wrapped up and on Demerol and I've made him promise that he's really going to take it easy for the next couple of weeks at least…" He paused. "Listen, guys, I've already talked to Devitt about this… I'm going to be taking the next week or so off… I'm going to stay here with him and make sure he doesn't do anything to delay his recovery any more than he already has."

Both inspectors were nodding but their concerned frowns hadn't disappeared. Tanner cocked his head. "Are you sure that's all it is, Steve…? 'Cause I've seen Mike hurt before but not like this…"

Steve stared at his colleague silently for a couple of long beats, neither of them moving, before he dropped his eyes and sighed loudly. "No, you're right. It's different this time…"

"Why?" Lessing asked softly.

Steve shrugged slowly. "Look, I, ah… I haven't had the chance to talk to him yet… but I think he feels that he's, ah… that he's becoming irrelevant in the department…"

Tanner and Lessing froze, frowning, staring at Steve in disbelief. Lessing recovered first. "What…?" he almost breathed.

Tanner took a step back, his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "You've gotta be kidding, right?"

Steve cocked his head. "I wish I was. But I actually believe that's what he's thinking right at the moment, and it's tearing him apart."

"Well, he's wrong!" Lessing blurted out, unable to contain his shock.

"Oh course he's wrong," Steve stage whispered, glancing at the door and frowning; Lessing shrugged an apology. "But I can't just come out and tell him that, he'll think I'm just… massaging his ego. He's got to change his mind on his own… with a little help."

Tanner was nodding, staring at his colleague soberly. "So what are you going to do?" he asked quietly.

Steve shrugged and shook his head. "I'm going to talk to him… that's all I can do, I'm afraid. Try to make him see how much the department still needs him… how much _we_ still need him…" He looked at the others with a sad smile, heartened when they stared back and nodded.

"Listen, ah," Tanner said softly, obviously shaken, "if you need any back-up, don't hesitate, okay? And ah, say what you gotta say to him, Steve, but for god's sake don't let him win."


	87. Chapter 87

Steve re-entered the house, glancing into the living room as he shut the door. The recliner was empty and Mike was nowhere to be seen. He looked up the staircase then took the steps two at a time. Mike was lying on top of his made bed, his left hand resting lightly on his chest and his eyes closed.

Steve stood in the doorway for several seconds. Tanner and Lessing were right, he had to admit; Mike looked terrible. He was eating okay, but he looked drained and exhausted. The lines in his face had gotten deeper and there were dark circles under the blue eyes that had lost their familiar sparkle.

Steve approached the bed quietly. He knew Mike wasn't asleep. "How are you feeling?"

There was a soft snort from the bed. "Crappy…" Mike murmured, keeping his eyes closed.

Frowning, Steve sat carefully on the edge of the bed and rested his left fingers gently against the tensor bandage around the older man's chest. He wasn't used to hearing this kind of honesty from his partner. "Crappy in what way…?"

Mike smiled, chuckling. "I'm just tired, that's all…" he sighed heavily, "… and sore…"

Steve increased the pressure of his hand slightly. "I'm not surprised… you've taken quite a beating the past few weeks…"

His eyes still closed, Mike chuckled again. "And I'm not getting any younger, that's for sure…" He exhaled loudly, his smile disappearing.

Steve stared at him silently for several seconds, feeling his own heart start to pound. "Hey, ah, do you want some lunch?" He was hoping his voice wouldn't betray his growing anxiety.

Mike shook his head.

"Listen, ah, why don't you just sleep for the rest of the afternoon?"

Mike nodded almost imperceptibly then stopped moving, his chest rising and falling slowly and deeply. Steve sat with him for a few minutes then got up quietly and left the room, pushing the door to but not closed. With a heavy heart, he descended the stairs.

# # # # #

He was standing over the stove, stirring the contents of a large pot with an equally large spoon, when he heard movement from the living room behind him. He turned, only slightly surprised to see his disheveled partner standing in the doorway, one hand on the wall. "What are you doing down here?"

Mike looked sleepy but he was smiling slightly. He shrugged evasively. "I just woke up. And, ah, I've found that if I don't move for a few hours then I… you know… kind of petrify…" He chuckled softly as he squirmed slightly, punctuating his words.

Not totally convinced, Steve raised his eyebrows and stared at him impassively. "How're your ribs feeling?"

Mike was beginning to look annoyed. "Not bad," he answered vaguely, deciding to change the subject. He sniffed the air. "That smells good," he said with a smile, crossing slowly to the table.

Quickly realizing what his partner was doing, Steve turned back to the stove with a resigned smile, taking the spoon out of the pot and putting it on a saucer then putting the lid on.

"What time is it anyway?" Mike mumbled as he sat heavily with a grunt, his left hand against his ribs.

Steve glanced at the clock on the stove. "Almost 8."

"At night?" Mike's eyebrows furrowed; he looked almost shocked. "I slept all day?"

"Pretty much. You missed lunch. How _do _you feel?" he asked again, accentuating his inquiry with a pointed stare.

Mike met his eyes evenly for a long moment then shrugged carefully, bobbling his head slightly. "About the same, I guess…"

Steve's stare softened; he was still worried about the older man's sunken eyes and unhealthy pallor. He slipped the bottle of Demerol out of his shirt pocket then took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water. "Here," he said, handing both to his frowning partner, who had watched his every move. "You're due for another pill." He watched as Mike did as he was told then took the glass back. "Are you hungry?"

Mike nodded slowly. "Yeah… " He looked at the pot on the stove. "That smells like stew…"

Steve smiled. "It is." He gestured at an old cookbook, its pages stuffed with loose pieces of paper, open on the counter. "I found Jeannie's cookbook and that old handwritten recipe for a beef and potato stew. Was it your wife's?"

Mike was still staring at the pot, as if mesmerized. "No," he mumbled, "my mother's…" He looked up at the young man and smiled softly. "I haven't smelled that smell in…" He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know how long…"

Steve frowned slightly. "Jeannie doesn't make it?"

Shaking his head, Mike snorted softly. "She's never tried. I think she thinks she won't be able to make it like her mother did…"

Steve's face fell; he suddenly looked stricken, as if he had just made a huge mistake.

Chuckling softly, Mike stared at him. "Don't look so scared. I already said it smells great… so if it tastes even half as good as it smells, it's going to be wonderful." He got up slowly and crossed to the stove, opening a top drawer nearby and taking a spoon out. With a sideways glance at his now very nervous partner, he picked up an oven mitt and took the lid off the pot, holding it as he reached in with the spoon. His eyes on the younger man, he raised the spoon and took a sip of the hot broth.

Steve waited, holding his breath.

Mike let the taste roll around on his tongue for several seconds, his face unreadable. He put the lid back on the pot and dropped the oven mitt on the counter, starting back towards the table without a word. He sat carefully, trying not to groan, looking down at the table and straightening the cutlery and napkins that were sitting on the placemats.

Steve watched his every move without a word, biting his tongue, waiting for some sort of a reaction. Finished rearranging everything on the small table, Mike looked up innocently. "What…?"

Almost unable to contain himself, Steve asked through partially clenched teeth. "Well…?"

"Well what?" Mike stared at him, eyes wide. "Oh, the stew…?" He feigned surprise, pointing vaguely towards the stove. "Oh, ah… it's perfect…" he said simply, his eyes dropping back to the table, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin. Then he very carefully started to laugh.

Throwing his head back and rolling his eyes, Steve exhaled loudly and sagged against the counter. "Really?" He obviously wasn't convinced.

Mike looked up, smiling and nodding. "Really…" he chuckled, "you got it just right, Smiley. You're going to be giving Jeannie cooking lessons soon at this rate."

"Yeah, right," the younger man snorted, reaching into an upper cupboard to take out two large soup bowls and putting them on the counter.

Mike watched silently from the table as Steve ladled the stew into the bowls and brought them table. "Thanks," Mike nodded as Steve put the bowl down in front of him before sitting across the table. Mike grabbed a bun from the wicker basket on the table and tore it in half then picked up the spoon, bobbled his eyebrows, and tried his first mouthful. He chewed without expression then swallowed and smiled. "You can relax now, this is just about perfect."

"_Just about?"_ Steve pounced, as his partner knew he would.

Wincing slightly, but not in pain for a change, Mike held his left thumb and forefinger in front of his face, with just a hair between them. "Needs just a little more Worcestershire. That's all, I swear," he chuckled with an impressed smile as he stuck the spoon back into the bowl.

Steve shot to his feet and crossed the short distance to the fridge. Within seconds the small bottle of Worcestershire sauce was on the table. Mike was still chuckling.

They ate in silence until they'd both emptied their bowls, sopping up the thick broth with the dinner rolls. Mike sat back with a satisfied sigh and a slight smile.

"You want some more?" Steve encouraged, knowing that a healthy appetite was always a good sign.

"Maybe a little later," the older man said gratefully.

Nodding, Steve got up to take his empty bowl to the sink. As he was returning to the table, Mike said quietly, "Just so you know… and just so you don't think I'm keeping anything from you… When you were out yesterday after Doc Reynolds was here…" He paused and cleared his throat slightly, meeting the younger man's frowning stare evenly. "I gave Roy a call… you know, just to see how things really were going in the office… And, ah, he told me about Mel…"

Steve had stopped moving, and now he closed his eyes.

"I realize you probably didn't want me to know," Mike continued gently, "but I don't think Roy knew that…"

Steve opened his eyes but he still didn't move.

Mike gestured towards the other chair with his chin. "Why don't you sit down…?"

The younger man pulled the other chair a little further away from the table before dropping into it heavily. Trying not to wince, Mike leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "What did she want?" he asked softly.

He hated having to do this, but it was important that Steve knew exactly where he stood in relation to this young woman who had become such a big part of his life. And the mere fact that he hadn't mentioned that he'd had contact with her so recently told Mike that the young man was still grappling with his feelings towards her. And that was not a good thing, he knew. Once again, images of Connie Moore flashed through his mind.

Steve was staring unfocused at the floor, looking suddenly sad and defeated. He inhaled deeply. "She, ah, she brought me some clothes that I'd left at her place…" he finally said quietly.

Mike waited a beat. "Was that all?" he asked softly.

Steve nodded his head slightly. "Yeah… yeah. She wasn't there long, she just gave me the bag… and she asked about you, why you weren't back at work…"

"What did you tell her?"

The younger man raised his head and met the soft and sympathetic blue eyes. "The truth…" he answered quietly.

Mike nodded slowly. "So… is it over, do you think?" he asked carefully and watched as the green eyes unfocused, the head bowing slightly.

With a vague shrug, Steve shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I don't know… I really don't…" He took a long deep breath, releasing it slowly. "I really thought she was the one, Mike, I really did… She was everything I wanted in a –" He stopped suddenly, his eyes snapping to his partner's. They brightened and he bit his lower lip, snorting almost bitterly. He leaned forward quickly and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing the tips of his fingers against his forehead as he stared at the floor.

Mike sat perfectly still, watching him, letting him work through his roiling emotions on his own. He knew there was really nothing he could do or say right now that the young man didn't already know, whether he realized it or not.

Eventually Steve looked up, his eyes still filled but his emotions more under control. He shook his head sadly. "I've tried to forgive her," he said softly, "I've really tried… but I can't…" He snorted dryly, almost angrily, and looked down again. "I don't think I can trust her anymore… and I can't live with that." His head snapped up. "Do you think I'm wrong?" he asked, suddenly unsure.

Smiling gently, Mike shook his head. "No… no, I don't think you're wrong at all. I happen to think trust is the one of the two most important components of any relationship. Trust and honesty."

Steve stared at the older man for a long moment then looked away, nodding slowly. "Yeah…" he breathed.

Mike leaned over the table, trying not to wince as his ribs protested slightly. "Steve, you have to do what's right for you… not for anybody else. It's you that has to live with your decisions, just like I have to live with mine and Mel has to live with hers. And whichever way you decide to go…" He paused and snorted softly, his eyes brightening. "Well, I just want you to know, like I've told you before, that whatever decision you make… that you know I'm behind you a hundred percent… and I always will be…"

Their eyes met and held for several long moments, neither of them moving, then Steve blinked and nodded almost imperceptibly. "I know…" he whispered.

Smiling affectionately, Mike sat back. He inhaled deeply and raised his eyebrows. "You do know that, ah, that you're going to have to figure out how you're going to explain all this to Jeannie at some point?"

Steve had leaned forward again, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his clasped hands. He smiled wistfully with a dry chuckle. "Yeah, I know… but I think I've got to explain it to myself first…"


	88. Chapter 88

He put the key into the lock, smiling as he turned the tumblers. It was an unusually dark and drizzly afternoon but he wasn't about to let the weather get him down. For the first time in days, if not weeks, things finally seemed to be turning around.

He opened the door and stepped over the threshold. "Well, let's see," came the slightly anxious voice from deep within the confines of the living room. He turned with a chuckle as he closed the door.

Mike was sitting in the armchair on the other side of the couch, grinning in anticipation as he tossed the magazine he had been reading on the coffee table. As he crossed the room, Steve held up his left hand, his forearm now castless. He wiggled his fingers and bent his wrist.

"How does it feel?" Mike asked, chuckling.

"Great," the younger man admitted as he stopped in front of the chair, holding his arm out and rolling his sleeve up. "It feels funny, like all the muscles have gone to mush… and my skin's a little pastey -"

"That's normal," the older man said, nodding. "It won't take long to come back."

"Yeah," he nodded, frowning slightly. "Well, I'm gonna go upstairs and give it a good wash. It's got that funky old-cast smell, you know…?"

"Oh yeah, I know," Mike chuckled as his partner turned and headed towards the stairs. "Hey, ah, how 'bout I call for a pizza for dinner tonight?" he called after the retreating figure.

"Sounds like a great idea."

# # # # #

"Marco's makes a great pizza, I have to admit," Steve said with a conciliatory laugh, dropping a small piece of crust onto his plate on the coffee table.

"Told ya," Mike said with a smug smile, still working on his second piece. He was sitting back in the recliner, his plate on his lap.

Steve took the moment to study the older man. Things had been quiet for the past couple of days, both of them taking it easy. Mike had been spending most of the time sleeping, and he assured his young friend that he was starting to feel a lot better. The pain from the torn cartilage in his rib cage was finally starting to ease and he was taking fewer Demerol pills; in fact, had had yet to take one that day.

So, physically, he was getting better. But Steve was pretty sure that the older man was still contemplating his future and how much, in his mind at least, the path he had carved for himself was suddenly crumbling beneath his feet.

Steve picked up his glass of beer and took a sip, then set it down with a deliberate thud. Just about to take another bite of pizza, Mike looked up sharply at the sudden sound.

Leaning back on the couch with feigned casualness, Steve smiled slightly. "I'm, ah, I'm thinking of going back in to the office on Monday, help Bill and Lee try to figure out a way to get Mrs. Goodman to confess to killing her husband."

Mike frowned slightly. Tanner had called that morning, before Steve had left to have the cast removed, to let them know that, despite Bayner and Mrs. Goodman pointing fingers at each other, ADA O'Brien had decided to charge them both with first degree murder with extenuating circumstances, in the knowledge that those charges would be bargained down to second degree murder once the police could definitively ascertain which one did the actual murder.

"Sure, I don't see why not. Maybe you can unearth something they've missed… put the final nail in someone's coffin, so to speak."

Steve chuckled. He had been studying the older man and had to admit he was relieved with what he saw, on the outside at least.

Biting off another piece of pizza and chewing, Mike was looking at the younger man from under a slightly furrowed brow, growing a little disconcerted by the intense scrutiny.

Steve smiled suddenly. "You're looking better," he said encouragingly.

"I'm feeling better. Still got a ways to go but…" He shrugged with raised eyebrows and a reassuring smile.

"Listen, ah, the other day… just before Jeannie called… remember? I was telling you about Bill and Lee wrapping up the Trammel case on their own… that I was going to stay with you…?"

Mike had stopped moving, staring at the younger man with a slightly furrowed brow, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Very slowly he lowered the piece of pizza in his hand to the plate on his lap, nodding warily. "Yeah…?"

Clearing his throat lightly, Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. He smiled briefly to himself, very happy that the cast was no longer an impediment. "I, ah…" he exhaled quickly with an almost nervous chuckle, looking down, "I got the impression that, ah, that you're starting to think that maybe you're not up to the job anymore…" He looked up, straight into the suddenly hooded blue eyes. "Am I right?"

Mike stared at him without blinking for a couple of very long seconds then he blinked slowly and bit his bottom lip. With a heavy sigh, he sank even further into the large recliner. Slowly a soft, ironic smile curled the corners of his mouth. "I'm not getting any younger, Steve…" He shrugged with a gentle chuckle. "That's not news. But in the last little while… well, I'm beginning to realize how much this is becoming a young man's game." He smiled then continued quickly. "Don't get me wrong, I know I can still do the job. I know how much I contributed to the Goodman case, you don't have to remind me. But let's be honest, I did all that over the phone. I didn't even have to leave the office to do that."

Frowning slightly, Steve stared at his partner, holding his tongue and his breath, letting him release everything that he knew had been building up inside the older man most likely since that bullet had torn through his chest over a month ago.

"But physically now…?" Mike shrugged, shaking his head. "I just don't know anymore…" He chuckled dryly, looking at his young partner with wide eyes. "Where did the years go, hunh? I mean, I don't feel all that old. I feel… or at least I _think_ I feel like I did when I started walking a beat thirty years ago. But I'm not, and I know that now."

He snorted dryly, his gaze dropping, shaking his head again in wonder. "Boy, do I know that now… You know, when I sitting there, making those phone calls, I was looking around the bullpen… and I remember when I first started, when I first made detective in Robbery, and I walked into that bullpen and I was the youngest guy there. Oh, I wasn't as young as you were, don't get me wrong, but I'd just turned thirty so I was still pretty green. And I looked around at all those senior detectives and they all seemed so… old…" He laughed, smiling. "Old… They were all younger than I am now."

His smile slowly disappearing, he raised his left hand and ran it over his eyes, dropping his head and chuckling silent. "And now I look up and I'm the oldest guy in the room who's still on the streets – hell, I'm the oldest guy in the _department_ still on the streets… And maybe there's a reason for that… Maybe all the other guys got it right, and I'm the only one still hanging on, the only one still deluding himself into thinking he can keep up with you younger guys…" He swallowed heavily, looking down, the sad reality so evident on his face.

After a few long silent seconds, Steve reached out and touched his partner's knee. The older man didn't move. "You're not deluding yourself, Mike… You got to know that, right? Yes, what you did for the Goodman case, that was all done over the phone, you're right. But that doesn't mean you still aren't the best cop on the street… And you know, of course, that being on the street doesn't mean you have to be the fastest or the strongest… or even the best shot," he said with a soft chuckle, grinning when the older man's head came up, the blue eyes narrowing.

"Don't get all defensive," Steve chuckled gently, raising both hands in mock surrender, "I know you can still outshoot me on the range from time to time…" He put his hand back on his partner's knee and patted him several times before he squeezed affectionately. He saw a soft smile play over Mike's lips before he lowered he his head again.

"Look, ah," he continued quietly, "I can't say I know what you're going through because I don't, of course. And I also know that anything I'm going to say to you right now will come precariously close to platitudes that I know you've heard before and really don't need to hear again. But I hope you'll listen to what I'm going to say right now… and just think about. We don't have to have a long conversation tonight because I don't think either of us really wants that at the moment… But I do want you just to listen to me, okay…?"

Without looking up, Mike nodded slowly.

"Good," Steve said softly, patting his partner's knee again before straightening up slightly, his elbows on his knees once again, maintaining the close connecton. "Look, ah, all I want to say is that I just want you to put this past month into some kind of perspective. And I know you're going through a rough patch right now, mentally as well as physically, but you can't separate those two right now.

"Yes, you're physically at probably the lowest I've ever seen you. No, I take that back –you _are_ at the lowest I've ever seen you. But you know even more than I do the reasons for that." He paused and cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of how he was going to get through the next few moments. "Mike, I almost lost you a few weeks ago in that alley… We_ all_ almost lost you, through no fault of your own. You didn't make a mistake, you weren't too slow to respond to a dangerous situation, you were shot by one of our own."

He watched as Mike swallowed heavily and nodded gently, his head still down. He smiled slightly, trying to turn his tone lighter. "And less than two weeks later, there you were, saving me from that bat-wielding maniac in Palm Springs when, by rights, you probably still should've been in the hospital, or at least in bed at home." He chuckled softly as Mike closed his eyes. "And then, if that wasn't bad enough, you stop Martin Bayner from getting away by making him drive his car into yours. The fact that you had the presence of mind to spot him when he drove past you that morning still blows my mind, let alone timing your appearance at the end of the street so perfectly."

He finished a lot louder than he started, and with a lot more enthusiasm than he thought was appropriate, but he'd felt himself caught up in the moment. "In case you haven't noticed," he chuckled softly, "what I'm trying to tell you is, you haven't lost a step, Mike, not where it counts. And so what if Bill or Lee… or me can run faster than you – I think you can still outrun Dan and Norm. You're still a hell of a shot. And you've got more experience under that fedora than anybody I know, and I think that's the kind of cop we need more of on the streets right now… wouldn't you say?"

Mike still hadn't moved, but Steve could see his breaths had become faster and deeper. He leaned forward and patted his knee again. "Listen, ah, I'm going to do a little cleaning up. You just, ah…" With one last pat, he got to his feet, reaching out to take the plate off Mike's lap before picking up his own and disappearing into the kitchen.

Mike sat perfectly still, looking down, trying to subdue his sudden uncontrollable shaking and his ragged breaths. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. Eventually he looked up towards the kitchen, hearing his young partner puttering around.

Steve was rinsing the plates under the tap when he heard the recliner close; when Mike didn't appear in the kitchen doorway he wasn't surprised. When he returned to the living room to get the pizza box, the older man was nowhere to be seen. He had obviously gone upstairs to his bedroom.

Steve returned to the kitchen, filling the sink to do the dishes. Frowning, he looked over his shoulder in the direction of the staircase to the upper floor. He felt he had done all he could right now, said what he need to say and what he thought Mike needed to hear.

Their future together, and the strong bond they shared, was now definitely out of his hands. He had never felt so lonely.


	89. Chapter 89

"Well, we're thinking we have to somehow break her story because, well, we're also starting to think that he's the one telling the truth," Tanner said with a tilt of his head and a chuckle. He was sitting at his desk, Lessing on one haunch on the corner.

Steve was in the guest chair facing them. "So you're both thinking that she killed her husband and Bayner just helped her… clean up?"

Both inspectors nodded.

"And he's saying…?"

"Well, he's admitting that he painted the car and that they dumped it in Oakland together," Lessing confirmed, "and he's also admitting to wrapping up Goodman's body in the tarp and driving it upstate and burying it on his property. But he refuses to take any responsibility for Goodman's murder. He's saying she did it."

"How?"

"He says she hit him over the head with a tire iron, the tire iron from the Chevelle, then threw it in a dumpster."

Steve frowned. "So… where and when is she supposed to have done this?"

Lessing looked at his partner and they both grinned. "Well, neither of them were forthcoming about that… her because, of course, well, she's not about to admit to anything regarding Goodman's murder…"

"And him," Tanner took over, "because we initially thought he didn't know or, if he did, he wasn't saying anything at first because he didn't want to implicate her. But I think he's really getting desperate for us to believe that he didn't kill Goodman because suddenly last night he asked to see me… and he told me he just remembered she said something about it…"

"Right, yeah, he just remembered…" Steve's voice was dripping with sarcasm and his colleagues chuckled. "So, wait," he said suddenly, cocking his head and looking away, then pausing for a couple of seconds, "he does know he's going to be charged with murder anyway, right? Because even if she did it, I mean physically did it, he's just as to blame because of what he did…?" He frowned and shrugged, shaking his head.

Tanner raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Oh he knows all of that, Gerry and both of us made sure of that." He gestured towards Lessing with his chin. "I'm just assuming that it's some kind of… I don't know, personal morality on his part to make sure that we know that he didn't actually take a life…" He shrugged.

Steve raised his eyebrows and sat back, the front legs of the chair lifting off the floor. "Well, I guess that makes some kind of sense… So, if Iremember correctly, we still don't know exactly where Mr. and Mrs. Goodman went after they drove the Chevelle out of the garage that night, do we? And we don't really have a detailed timeline between then and the first time the Chevelle was ticketed in Oakland, except when the paint and painting equipment was purchased, right?"

Both black inspectors nodded. "Right, we don't," Tanner confirmed, "that's why we're taking what Bayner told us with a little less than our usual grain of salt. He might actually be giving us a lead that we can use."

"So what did he say?"

"Well, he says she showed up at his place in the Chevelle on the 27th, which makes that the day after Trammel's murder. And we have no clue as to where the Goodmans had gone after the murder… we'd sort of been assuming they showed up at Bayner's right away, she probably using the excuse that Bayner was someone who could help them out of the jam they were in, that he was a old school chum, something like that…" Lessing postulated.

"Yeah, but now we have this twenty-four hour period where we have to fill in the blanks… because, according to Bayner last night," Tanner shared another look with his partner before his gaze returned to Steve, "when she showed up at his place, Goodman's body was already in the trunk."

Steve sat forward sharply, the front legs of the chair hitting the floor with a thud. "What do you mean 'it was in the trunk'? When Charlie took the car apart, all he found were fingerprints and garbage. He specifically told Mike and me that he didn't find any blood."

Tanner tilted his head with a wry smile. "Well, according to Bayner, Goodman was wrapped in a bunch of blankets and he'd already been dead for almost twenty-four hours. He'd bled out somewhere else…"

"And he doesn't know where that 'somewhere else' is, does he?"

Both his colleagues shook their heads.

"And she's not about to tell us, is she?"

They shook their heads again. "Are you kidding?" Lessing snorted. "And implicate herself even further…?"

"What happened to the blankets?"

"He burned them… in his backyard barbeque. We're going to ask Fremont PD to check it out but chances are there's nothing left."

Steve looked away, his gaze unfocusing. "So," he said quietly, almost to himself, "somewhere between the Carlton Hotel and Bayner's house in Fremont, we've got to find the place where she killed her husband… and where there's a big puddle of his blood…" He looked up at his colleagues and smiled sardonically. "Piece a cake," he laughed before dropping his head into his hands with a cartoonish groan.

# # # # #

"You're kidding…?" Mike chuckled on the other end of the line. "Well, it sure sounds like you've got your work cut out for you."

"Yes, doesn't it? Listen, ah, I don't know what time I'm going get back tonight –"

"Look, Steve, I'm… You don't have to babysit me anymore, I'm okay… I'm doing better all the time, you know that. So why don't you move back home…?"

Steve knew this was coming and he hesitated a second before he snorted loud enough to be heard. "I know you're getting better, that's not… " He sighed.

"I know what you're trying to do, I really do, and I appreciate it more than you can know. But you need to move back home, get your own life back… okay? Look, I'll pack up your stuff and when you get the chance – tonight or sometime tomorrow – pop around and pick it up."

There was a short silence on the line. "You're sure…?"

Mike chuckled again. "Sure I'm sure. Just, ah, you know, keep me in the loop when you get the chance, okay?"

"Yeah, I will…"

"Great, okay, well, I'll see you sometime tonight or tomorrow." There was a click and the line went dead.

Steve looked at the receiver in his hand for a long second before placing it on the cradle and staring at the phone. They had spent the weekend quietly, reading, watching baseball and barbequing, enjoying the last of the summer weather, talking about everything except what was foremost on both their minds. Steve knew Mike had been thinking about what he had said about his capacity to still do the job but they hadn't discussed it any further. He had no idea what the older man was thinking, and that was bothering him more than he dared to admit.

He looked up, startled, when Tanner dropped onto the corner of his desk and nodded towards the phone. "How's he doing?"

With a facial shrug, Steve leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I don't know, Bill, I really don't…"

"Have you talked to him about… you know…?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Well, sort of, I guess… I kinda laid out all the reasons he's at a low point right now… and how none of us think he's too old for the job…" He shrugged. "I don't know if he listened to me, I really don't… That was a few days ago and he hasn't made any mention of it since, so…?" He sighed. "Anyway, that was him just suggesting that maybe it was time for me to move back home, so I don't know where his head is at right now…" He looked up at Tanner and smiled sadly. "I wish I did, Bill, I really do…"

Tanner smiled encouragingly. "Well, hang in there, hunh? I guess that's all we can do right now."

"Yeah. I'm, ah, I'm thinking about telling him about what we just discussed, you know…? Try to peak his curiosity again… see if he takes the bait and gives us a hand in trying to find out where Goodman was actually killed…" he sighed again, "but I don't know. He's on to me now so who knows what he's going to do…"

"Well, I don't know about you but I don't want to see his name coming off that door, that's for sure," Tanner nodded over his shoulder towards the inner office as he got up and crossed slowly back to his desk.

# # # # #

"Hmmm," Mike murmured as he sat back in the recliner, raising the footrest. "That's. ah, that's a pretty big hole in the case, isn't it?"

Smiling, Steve picked up his glass of beer and took a sip. "Ah, yeah, you could say that," he chuckled after he swallowed.

"Have you narrowed it down to… well, anything smaller than, you know, the size of both cities…?"

Steve shook his head. "Nope. You got any ideas?"

"Me? Ah, no… not at the moment. I'll have to think about it for awhile."

"Well, good," Steve nodded, sitting back. "I was hoping you'd say that, 'cause we caught another case today – a body washed up near Fort Point with two bullet holes in his back – and Bill and Lee are taking that one, so the Goodman case is now sorta all mine again. Roy's trying to find me a temporary partner but…" He shrugged. "We're still understaffed… everybody is…"

Mike sighed heavily, watching Steve with his head cocked. He knew what his young partner was trying to do but, though he appreciated the effort, he was determined he was not going to rise to the bait. "Well, ah, I'll do what I can from here… that's all I can do…"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I know…"

Mike stared at him for a long second then nodded towards the kitchen. "I think dinner's ready." He lowered the footrest and started to get up. "Come on, let's go eat."

# # # # #

"Anything yet?" Devitt asked, pausing in front of Steve's desk on his way to the inner office.

The younger man looked up, sighing as he tossed his pen onto the desk in frustration and shaking his head. "Not a thing. I've hit a dead end. I've gone over everything we have from the night Trammel was killed and the days right before and right after and I can't figure out where she went with that damn car. I've made sure all the patrol units have been briefed in case they stumble across anything that looks promising, and I've sent out feelers to all private security companies to canvas their guards and night watchmen to see if anybody might know something and maybe don't even realize it."

"Good plan. And none of Bayner's neighbours remember seeing a red Chevelle at his place?"

"Not one, which makes me think they drove it there in the middle of the night and put it in the garage and it didn't come out again until they'd painted it. Which also means it probably had Goodman's body in the trunk the whole time, so it probably wasn't in the garage for long or things could've gotten very ugly very quickly… I mean, summer in Oakland…?" He grimaced and Devitt did the same.

"Yeah, that's for sure. And Bayner doesn't have a freezer in his garage?"

Steve shook his head. "Nope."

"Hunh!" Devitt snorted. "Well, good luck," he chuckled as he continued towards the office then stopped. "Oh, ah, by the way, when's the last time you talked to Mike?"

Steve's ironic smile disappeared quickly. "It's been a couple of days. I've left messages but he hasn't called me back. He left messages on my home answering machine, just telling me he's okay and not to worry but…" He stopped and shook his head uneasily. "I don't know what's going on, Roy, I really don't."

The gray-haired captain moved closer to the desk. "You just gotta give him his space, like you young people say, right?" he chuckled gently. "He's going through a rough patch right now… and believe me, I know what how that feels. I didn't want to leave the streets either but my wife wanted me to, and she wanted me to take the captaincy as well, so I did. But it wasn't easy…" He smiled sadly. "So, ah, give him time and let him make the decision on his own… that's the only way this'll work, because if you push him to make a decision and it turns out to be the wrong one…? Well, all I can say is that both of you will lose… and I know you don't want that." He nodded soberly at the younger man before continuing on to the inner office and closing the door behind him.

Steve watched him go, his gaze settling on the black letters on glass, then looked back at the phone again. He closed his eyes and sighed.


	90. Chapter 90

"So you believe what's he telling you?" Mike asked with raised eyebrows as he reached for the glass of beer on the endtable and took a sip.

Steve sat back slightly, frowning. "Yeah…" he said tentatively, suddenly feeling like he was on shaky ground.

He had spent the day dividing his time between two fronts. The Bayner/Rochford case had hit a, he hoped, temporary dead-end until they could find where she had, according to Bayner, bludgeoned her husband to death and let him bleed out. And another case had crossed his desk, the fatal stabbing of a bodega owner in the Tenderloin as he was closing the store for the night.

Then, worried he hadn't heard from his partner in over two days, he'd stopped by the De Haro house unannounced, surprised to find the older man in paint-splattered old clothes, a putty knife in one hand and a caulking gun in the other. "I had some time on my hands, so I decided to do a little work around the house," Mike explained with a chuckle.

As he washed his hands at the kitchen sink, after inviting the younger man to stay for dinner, Steve filled him in on what had been happening in the office. And now, as they waited for the leftover stew to heat on the stove, relaxing in the living room over a couple of beers, Mike began to question what he was hearing.

"Why…?" Steve asked hesitantly, sitting back in the couch almost defensively.

Mike tilted his head. "Well, think about it. I know you guys want to put a lid on this, and soon… I mean, I know how long it's been going on but… I just think you guys should take a step or two back and look at it through… I don't know, fresher eyes." He paused and smiled. "Look, I'm not saying you guys are getting it wrong, don't read that into it… all I'm saying is maybe you guys are a little too close to it right now… and I'm not anymore… And I'm just thinking that maybe you're all a little too quick to believe Bayner over Rochford. That's all I'm saying." He shrugged with a smile.

Steve leaned forward to pick up his glass and took a sip, staring at the older man who continued to meet his gaze without blinking. As he put the glass back down on the coffee table, he asked quietly, "So you're thinking that Bayner is lying to get a better plea bargain…?"

Mike shrugged again. "What has he got to lose?"

Steve sat back slowly. "Why do you think that?"

Taking a deep breath, Mike smiled slightly. "Well, there's still a lot of unanswered questions, aren't there? Didn't that guy in Palm Springs… ah, you know the guy we talked to…?" He looked at Steve for help recalling the name then just plowed on, "who said that Goodman called him the day after he killed Trammel to tell him what he'd done? I don't think that guy is lying, do you? So that means Goodman was alive the next day… well, at least for part of that day, so she didn't kill him right away, right? And you've seen her. She's not the world's smallest woman, but she's not an Amazon. It's hard to drag a full-grown unconscious, or dead, man into a car trunk, unless you have help, or unless she killed him in the trunk – but Charlie didn't find any blood, so that seems a little suspicious, doesn't it?" He stopped, his eyes wide and challenging.

Steve's stare had drifted away, turning inward, as he listened, deflating. He sighed heavily. "We've gotta talk to Bayner again, don't we?" His eyes found their way back to his partner's face.

Mike tilted his head and smiled gently. "Well, I would…"

Shaking his head in frustration, the younger man leaned forward, elbows on his knees and looking down. After a long second he looked up and picked up the beer glass again. "I just want this case to be over…" he chuckled dryly before taking a big gulp.

Mike laughed softly, picking up his own glass. "I can't begin to tell you how many times over the years I've felt that exact same thing…"

Steve stared at him, exhaling loudly. He wanted to tell the older man how much he wanted him back in the office, how much he missed working with him, but he knew they were on very unstable ground right now and it he didn't want to upset the precarious balancing act they were engaged in at the moment.

Suddenly Mike grinned, closing the recliner and getting to his feet. "Come on," he said with his usual enthusiasm, "I think dinner's ready." He started towards the kitchen. Steve dragged himself to his feet and followed.

# # # # #

As he drove home later that night, Steve reflected on the past couple of hours. It had been a relief, in more ways than one, to discover that his partner hadn't just been sitting around the house brooding over a future that no one could predict at the moment.

But the domestic Mike, the man working on the upkeep of his house – something he really didn't have the time to do while on the job – was not the man he was used to seeing. And he almost got the impression that the older man was becoming increasingly content with this version of himself, as if he was starting to come to the conclusion that life could go on without being a front-line homicide detective, and that he could live with being a desk cop.

He felt his heart sink. He knew it was a purely selfish wish but he didn't want Mike hanging up his fedora and retiring from the streets. The bond that they shared was the strongest he had ever experienced in his life so far, and he wasn't about to it let it break without a fight. But Devitt's words kept rattling around in his brain and he knew the captain was right; Mike had to make the decision on his own.

Exhaling loudly, he pounded his fist on the steering wheel in frustration, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. There were so many things going wrong in his life at the moment… with Mike, with Mel, with this case that he thought they had almost put away… He pulled the moss green sedan to the curb across the street from his apartment and turned off the engine but he didn't get out right away.

Something needed to break, he thought. This was all going on for far too long. Something had to happen to tip the scales one way or the other before it all reached the point of no return and lives were changed forever, and maybe not for the good.

When was it all going to end?

# # # # #

"So what's going on with that stabbing case?" Devitt asked as he passed Steve's desk on the way to the inner office.

Steve looked up, frowning. "Ah, oh, sorry," he shook his head quickly, pulling his thoughts together, "ah, the unies are still doing the canvas, and they're talking to the regulars today to see if anybody knows anything or saw anything. So, ah, nothing yet."

"How about the Goodman case?"

"Yeah, that, ah… I'm going to revisit some of the angles we've been working on… I'm going to try another tack on Bayner…" he answered vaguely.

Devitt frowned. "Anything I should know about?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, no, not right now," Steve answered quickly. "I'll let you know if there is." He smiled almost innocently and Devitt's brow furrowed.

"Okay," the older man said slowly as he continued towards the office then turned back. "Oh, ah, you talked to Mike lately?"

"Yeah, ah, I saw him last night."

"How's he doing?"

"He's doing repairs around his house," the younger man chuckled.

Devitt snorted in surprise. "You mean like…?" He mimed swinging a hammer.

Steve nodded, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, exactly like that."

"Well," the captain laughed, "I guess he's feeling a better then?"

"Yeah, he is."

"Great." Devitt stepped into the small office and closed the door behind him.

# # # # #

The dark blue sedan turned north onto De Haro from 26th and started down the street. The sun had almost set and the deep twilight blue of the cloudless but cool night was strangely comforting.

As the car crept slowly down the dark street, he sighed contentedly. It had been a long but good day. He had spent the morning painting the baseboards and doorframes around the house then gotten himself cleaned up and headed out. Stopping by a local florist shop, where he was well known, he picked up a bouquet of pink carnations then made the drive down the peninsula to Colma.

There, in the small town, he had spent a couple of hours in the sunshine, sitting on the grass of the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery and talking to his wife. It had been a long time since he'd had the chance to do this and he had a lot of news to catch her up on, not the least of which was their daughter's successful stint in San Diego and her imminent return.

And it had also given him the chance to one-sidedly discuss his own current dilemma, laying out both sides of the argument for and against his pending decision to finally accept a captaincy and retire from the street. But by the time he had finished, exhausting the pros and cons of both points of view, he found himself no closer to a decision.

As the sun began to set, he had kissed the name chiseled into the dark gray granite headstone, gotten slowly to his feet and, with a sad backward glance at the large bouquet of pink carnations lying on the bright green grass, he returned slowly to his car.

The sedan crossed over the 20th Street intersection and started down the steep hill. He pulled into the curb on the east side of the street opposite his house and turned off the engine. He was just opening the door when he heard a frantic young voice. "Lieutenant Stone – Lieutenant Stone!"

Halfway out of the car, he looked over his shoulder as a young blond boy about twelve came out of the dark and ran up to him, frantic. "Lieutenant Stone, you gotta help my mom!"

Mike recognized him as the son of one of his neighbours; he couldn't remember the boy's name but the surname Hollister flashed through his mind. He slammed the door and faced the young man, who had slid to a stop in front of him and grabbed at his sleeve. "What's wrong?"

"It's my Dad – he's hitting her! He's drunk and he's hitting her!"

Mike eyes snapped automatically to the neighbour's house and simultaneously he could hear the muted screams of a woman in pain and fear. He could also see the indistinct shadows of several people milling around nervously on the sidewalk.

"Let's go!" Mike growled at the boy and they both broke into a run, crossing the street to the steep stairs leading up to the grey clapboard house two down from his own.

The boy scrambled up the steps with the cop right on his heels. The front door was open and the pain-filled screams became louder and more frightening the closer they got to the door.

The boy charged into the house and through the living room into the kitchen, where a large dark-haired man was on his knees, bending over a woman lying on her back on the floor, struggling frantically to protect herself as he drove his right fist into her head and upper body over and over. "You bitch! You bitch!" he kept yelling, his deep voice barely audible over her spine-chilling screams of pain and fear. The boy grasped his father's shirt, trying to pull him away. The man jerked his right arm back and the boy was flung partway across the room.

Barely registering the tiny crying girl standing in the corner of the kitchen, Mike launched himself at the father, grabbing his right arm and the back of shirt in one move, using his size and weight to pull the unsuspecting man off of the woman. With a startled howl, Hollister was jerked backwards and both men fell heavily onto the kitchen floor. Hollister landed on top of Mike and recovered first, twisting with a roar and starting to lash out blindly.

From his back on the hard linoleum floor, Mike reached up, trying to grab the flailing arms. He managed to get a grip on Hollister's forearms, trying to keep the man at bay, but the drunken bully was in a blind rage. His right arm pulled out of the cop's grasp and suddenly the fist was flashing towards Mike's face. It made hard and full contact. The detective saw stars and then everything went black.


	91. Chapter 91

He sat back, tossing the pen onto the desk before running his hands over his face through his tousled hair. He rolled his shoulders then rocked his head from side to side, trying to ease the crick in his neck.

The only light in the bullpen was the purloined banker's lamp on the corner of his desk. He was going over the Trammel/Goodman case once more, this time with a comb with even finer teeth. Mike had made a lot of sense, he thought; and his own reservations about Bayner's protestations of innocence in Goodman's murder had only served to underline a thought that had crossed his mind recently.

He had been a little skeptical of Tanner and Lessing's acceptance of Bayner's 'confession' that he had helped with the disposal of Goodman's body but not in the man's actual demise… but they had seemed so convinced. And, perhaps, their enthusiasm had not been completely misplaced. Sometimes in cases like this, hard to solve and with victims and suspects who were all less than admirable, you tended not to look too deeply, just anxious to wrap up an otherwise distasteful case.

And though no member of SFPD's crack Homicide squad could ever be accused of wrapping a case prematurely just to be rid of it, sometimes it was wise not to look under too many leaves in case something jumped out that could turn everything upside down.

Mike would never let that happen, he knew, and that was why he was reviewing the case once again, trying to find something, anything, that could tighten the noose around Bayner's neck as much as he was trying to tighten it around Carole Rochford's.

Steve was arching his back, stretching the taut muscles, when the phone rang. Frowning, he picked up the receiver. "Homicide, Keller."

"Oh, good, Inspector, they said you were still in the building. This is Dispatch," came the rushed but very familiar female voice. "Um, Sergeant Riopelle from Patrol has requested your presence at a domestic disturbance on the 700 block of De Haro in the Potrero –"

"Where?"

"The 700 block of De Haro…"

"Ah, yeah, I'm on my way." Slamming the phone down, the blood suddenly pounding in his ears, Steve shot to his feet, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair as he bolted for the door.

# # # # #

The moss green Galaxie almost bottomed out as it took the corner onto De Haro a little too fast, screaming up the steep street, the cherry on the roof over his head and the siren wailing. Four long blocks ahead he could see the lights of a number of patrol cars and at least two ambulances, and his heart leapt into his mouth.

"Oh god, oh god," he repeated breathlessly as he shot up the street and through the stop signs before squealing to a rubber burning halt at the curb close to the scene partially illuminated by the flashing red, white and blue lights. Neighbours and curious onlookers were lining both sides of the residential street, four cop cars parked haphazardly, blocking the road.

As he bolted from the sedan, the back doors of one of the ambulances were slammed shut and, the siren piercing the otherwise fairly still night air, it shot up the street, making a quick right turn onto 20th on it's way to San Francisco General, only several blocks away.

He glanced up worriedly at his partner's house, startled to see it standing dark; the lights of all the neighbouring homes were blazing. On the run, he approached a nearby uniformed sergeant, grabbing his sleeve. "Stan!" he could barely get out, his heart pounding in his ears.

The grey-haired older man spun towards him, his face breaking into a quick, surprised smile. "Jeez, Steve, didn't take you long to get here," he said with a chuckle.

"Mike…" he blurted breathlessly and the sergeant's smile quickly died.

"You can relax," Sergeant Riopelle said soothingly, "he's over there." He gestured towards the other ambulance. "He's okay," he tried to reassure the obviously distraught young inspector but he was already gone, covering the short distance in a heartbeat.

An attendant standing over him, Mike was sitting in the door of the ambulance, his feet on the pavement and his hands clasped loosely in his lap. The front of his blue-and-white checked shirt was covered in blood and the attendant was holding what looked to be a fairly large white towel to the left side of his face. Pulling his head away from the attendant's touch, he glanced up and froze, startled to see his partner approaching at a run.

Steve slid to a stop, his eyes widening. Mike looked fine except for the left side of his face; his bottom lip was about three times its normal size.

"Lieutenant," the ambulance attendant said quietly, and Mike turned back to him, allowing what Steve now realized was a towel wrapped around a bunch of ice cubes to be pressed against the side of his mouth.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked breathlessly and Mike nodded hesitantly, careful of the compress against his lip.

The older man glanced up at the attendant and he took the towel away momentarily. Mike tried to smile, wincing with the pain. "I'm okay," he said, his words slurred by the grossly swollen lip. "I just got punched…"

"Yeah, I can see that," Steve growled as the towel went back against the injury.

The medic looked at him and shrugged. "He's gonna need stitches… we can't get his lip to stop bleeding."

Annoyed, Mike rolled his eyes.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Steve asked, trying to control the anger in his voice, anger he knew was born out of fear.

Mike carefully shook his head. "No, I told you," he said thickly, "I just got punched…"

Steve looked at the attendant. "Does he have to go in the ambulance or can I take him?"

The medic looked from Mike to Steve and back again then shrugged. "If you keep this pressed against your lip, he can drive you if you want," he said to the frowning lieutenant.

Mike's eyes, which were almost pleading, widened with relief and he nodded, reaching up to take the ice filled towel from the attendant's hand.

"Okay, that's great. It'll free us up." The medic looked at Steve, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows. "It's insane out there tonight, and it's not even a full moon yet."

"Great," Steve murmured, putting his hand on his partner's elbow and helping him to his feet, "that might mean more business for us tomorrow… just what we need." He led Mike slowly towards the Galaxie, opening the passenger side door for the older man. When Mike was safely in the front seat, he slammed the door and leaned in the open window. "I'll be right back."

He crossed the street to where Riopelle when on the radio of his squad car, waiting till the sergeant had finished the call. "Listen, ah, Stan, what the hell went down here tonight?"

"You don't know?" Steve shook his head. "Well, we still have to dot a few i's but it seems like that kid over there…" he pointed at a nearby black-and-white with a wide-eyed young boy in the back seat staring out the window, "came running over to Mike saying his dad was drunk and beating up his mom. And, ah, Mike broke up the fight."

Steve was frowning, his mouth slightly open, looking bewildered. "What…?" he almost whispered.

Riopelle chuckled. "Yeah… when my guys got here, he was up there," he pointed up to a house where Steve could see uniformed officers standing on the landing in front of an open door, "pounding the husband's head on the kitchen floor. He damn near killed him." The sergeant sounded impressed.

"So is that who was taken away in that ambulance when I got here?"

Riopelle face sobered. "No, that was the second ambulance… the wife was in that one. She's pretty badly beaten up but she's gonna make it. The husband was in the first one; he was unconscious…" He shrugged with a heavy sigh.

Steve nodded then gestured with his chin towards the black-and-white. "What's gonna happen to the kid?"

"You mean, the _kids_. There's a little girl in the car too; she's about six or seven. They're sending someone from Juvenile Services… they'll take them overnight…"

He cleared his throat and looked back at the young inspector. "How's Mike doing?"

"Oh, ah, I'm gonna take him to the General to get some stitches in his lip. You want me to take him downtown when they're finished?"

"No, ah, we've got enough for tonight. You just take him home. He's probably going to need the rest… I'm sure the suits'll talk to him in the morning. Ah, no offense…"

Steve chuckled. "None taken. Thanks, Stan." He turned to head back to the Galaxie.

"Hey, ah, tell Mike hell of a job tonight… and, ah, I hope the lip doesn't hurt too much."

With a nod and a smile, Steve held out his right hand, thumbs up. "Yeah, I will." He jogged back to the car and got in behind the wheel.

Mike was slumped back in the seat, holding the wet and cold towel against his face. Steve looked over, faint traces of an impressed smile on his face as he turned the key then shifted into Drive. Mike frowned. He wanted to ask what the look was about but his mouth hurt too much.

Unable to get past the cruisers strewn across the road, Steve backed the Galaxie up, swung it into a sharp three-point turn and headed down the street. After making the turn at the corner, he glanced across the front seat. "You sure you're not hurt anywhere else?"

The increasingly bloody towel pressed against the side of his mouth, Mike shook his head carefully. "No, I'm okay," he mumbled. "He only hit me the once…"

Steve nodded. "How are the ribs?"

Mike shrugged noncommittally. "They're fine…" When the younger man shot him a skeptical look, he raised his voice a little. "Honestly… I'm not just saying that to make you happy…"

Taking his eyes off the road to glare at him for a long second, Steve looked down the road again, exhaling loudly. His anger was rapidly dissipating but he still wanted his partner to know he wasn't happy about this alarming and unexpected turn of events. "Stan told me what happened." He glanced across the seat again. "You beat up a wife beater?"

Mike shrugged. He sat back in the seat, turning his head slowly to look out the side window. "I didn't have a choice…"

Steve cut another glance across the front seat and sighed.

# # # # #

Mike was sitting on the examination table, the bloody towel still in his hand, which was now in his lap. The emergency room resident was standing in front of him, looking at his lacerated lip with a small penlight.

"Yeah, you're gonna need a couple of stitches," the doctor murmured as he closely examined the still bleeding gash. "Maybe three…" He stepped back and snapped the light off. "Just sit tight and I'll be right back. You might want to keep that towel on it for now."

With a quick nod at Steve, he turned and left the room.

Mike looked up at his partner. "How bad does it look?" he mumbled around the towel.

With a soft chuckle, Steve took a step closer. "Like you got punched in the mouth." The older man sagged, bestowing his almost patented annoyed stare on the younger man, who laughed even louder. "Well, it's only about, oh, five times larger than normal, so nobody should notice…"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Great… Jeannie's coming home the day after tomorrow… Now I'll have to explain this to her." His words were slurred but understandable.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know… it's a pretty good cover, don't you think?" When Mike looked at him with a frown, he continued, "I mean, you can use this as an excuse for you not being at the office, right? And maybe…" his voice became softer, "maybe we won't ever have to tell her about the last seven weeks, hunh…?"

Mike was staring at him soberly, mulling over the implications of what the younger man had just said. He nodded slowly then shrugged slightly, taking the towel away from his mouth. "Maybe… but how are you going to explain to her what happened between you and Mel?"


	92. Chapter 92

The resident glanced towards the door as Steve came back into the room. "He's ready to go," he said pleasantly as he peeled off his latex gloves, turning back to the lieutenant still sitting on the examination table. "Now remember what I told you – eat soft foods for the next couple of days and avoid salty or citrusy things; they'll sting. Rinse your mouth out with salt water after you eat, and if you're feeling some discomfort in the next little while, use a cold pack if you want. It'll help take, and keep, the swelling down. And for god's sake, come back in if you think you're getting an infection, okay?"

Mike nodded soberly. His lip was even more swollen it seemed to his partner and Steve couldn't hide his wince when he caught sight of it. It looked painful and Mike looked miserable.

"Get a good night's sleep, Lieutenant, and take it easy for a couple of days, okay?" the resident said with a smile and a nod, turning away and passing Steve on his way to the door. He nodded at the inspector before stopping at the door and looking back. "Take good care of him… anybody that beats the crap out of a wife-beater is aces in my book," he said with a sober nod, meeting Mike's eyes briefly with a gentle smile before he disappeared through the door.

Mike raised his eyebrows and exhaled loudly; he wasn't smiling. "Speaking of beating the crap out of him, did you find out how he's doing?" he mumbled carefully, trying not to put a strain on the unseen stitches on the inside of his numb lip.

Steve nodded, moving closer to the table as Mike slowly slid off it. "Yeah, he's conscious. He woke up in the ambulance. They said he's going to be okay; they're going to keep him in overnight for observation and he's going to be released, and charged, in the morning. Marcus and Daly are here. It's their case. They want to talk to you but I told them to come by your place sometime tomorrow morning and they're good with that." He looked at his battered partner and smiled in commiseration. "Come on, let's get you home."

# # # # #

Steve put the hot but not boiling cup of coffee on the kitchen table, frowning at the older man who was staring into space expressionlessly. "Mike…" he said softly. The blue eyes slid slowly in his direction. He pointed at the cup. "Your coffee…"

The older man's head went back slightly. "Oh," he smiled softly with a chuckle, "thanks…" He reached out with both hands to pick it up and took a small, careful sip.

Steve pulled out the other chair and sat, sipping his own coffee. "How does your lip feel?"

Mike shrugged noncommittally. "Okay, I guess." He looked down at the cup distractedly. He was having trouble enunciating words but he was still easily understood.

The younger man studied him for a couple of seconds. ''You want anything to eat?"

Mike seemed to pull himself back from another plane. He looked at his partner blankly for a moment then bobbled his head slightly. "Um, ah, yeah… yeah. I, ah, I didn't have any dinner."

Steve frowned. "Why not?"

"Well, I was just getting home when all that… that commotion started. I was out all afternoon and I was going to eat when I got home."

"Where were you?"

Mike stared at him for a beat then dropped his head. He still had both hands around the cup and he took another sip. "I, ah, I was down in Colma… at the cemetery…"

Steve knew that was where Helen Stone was buried. He nodded softly. "So, listen, ah, why don't I whip us up something to eat…? I just had a quick sandwich from the cafeteria around 5…" He shrugged.

"You were in the office?"

"Yeah, I was going over the Trammel/Goodman case again, trying to find something that could tell us where Goodman was murdered."

Mike stared at him for several long beats; he knew the younger man had taken their discussion of the previous night to heart. He smiled warmly. "Find anything?"

Steve shook his head. "Not yet." He got up and crossed to the fridge, opening it and sticking his head in. After several seconds, he appeared again. "You need groceries… but I can whip us up a cheese omelette. It'll be soft, like the doc wants. How does that sound?"

Mike smiled carefully. "Perfect." He took his right hand off the cup and rubbed it wearily across his forehead then down his right cheek, grimacing slightly.

"The freezing wearing off?"

The older man nodded slowly, briefly closing his eyes.

Reaching into the fridge for the almost full carton of eggs, Steve said casually, "So, ah, what happened tonight? All I know is what Stan told me – that when his men got here you were pounding your neighbor's head into his kitchen floor."

Mike snorted softly, staring at someplace in the middle distance. "I shouldn't've done that. I had him under control but… I guess I lost my temper, hunh?"

Steve, who had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, turned away from the counter to stare at his partner. "I can't think of a better time, can you? I mean, the guy was beating the shit out of his wife, wasn't he, with his kids watching…?"

"Yeah…" Mike almost whispered, remembering that brief glimpse he had caught of the little girl standing in the corner of the kitchen, tears streaming silently down her face as she watched her father punching her mother, heard her mother's screams echoing off the walls and into her soul. He wondered if that had been the first time…

Steve had taken the cast iron frying pan out of the drawer under the stove and was breaking eggs into a large metal bowl. He glanced over his shoulder at the subdued older man sitting very still, staring into space, both hands on the mug on the table in front of him. Steve knew Mike needed to talk about what had just happened, and that he would in his own time. "How did it start… for you?" he asked almost casually, returning to the eggs.

Mike shook his head slightly, as if waking himself up. "Um, I had just driven up… and the boy came out of nowhere." In a halting cadence, hampered by the increasingly painful lip, Mike told his partner of the Hollister boy approaching him in a panic and then charging up the stairs to find his neighbour on the kitchen floor punching his screaming wife.

"He was drunk… really drunk. He didn't hear me coming, I know that, and I think when I pulled him off his wife he… I don't know, exploded with even more rage. I pulled him back and he fell on top of me and he got up faster than I did and that's when he hit me." He paused and shook his head slightly with a very soft snort. "That really hurt, I can tell you. The pain was so bad I think I blacked out for a second and I could taste blood right away."

He chuckled dryly and finally met the younger man's eyes. He looked almost sheepish. "I don't remember much after that except how angry I was… at him for hitting me, for beating his wife, for what he was doing to his kids…" He looked away again and took several deep breaths.

Steve stopped what he was doing at the counter, staring at his partner and waiting, knowing there was more to come.

"And, ah… and I guess I was angry about everything that we've had to go through these past few weeks as well, buddy boy…" he continued slowly, in a whisper. He looked up slowly, his eyes suddenly brimming. "We haven't caught a break in a long time, have we…?"

Steve stared at him expressionlessly for a couple of long seconds then he slowly shook his head. "No, Mike… no, we sure haven't…"

After several more seconds, Mike snorted with a dry chuckle and looked down, squeezing the cup between his hands. "He didn't lay another hand on me… I didn't let him… I wasn't going to let the drunken bastard get the better of me, even if he was bigger and younger and stronger than I was…" He looked up again and smiled, wincing at the pain it caused.

Steve's face broke into a warm smile and he laughed affectionately. Wordlessly, he turned back to the counter and picked up the whisk. His smile lingered. If they spoke no more about the incident tonight, he would be fine with that. This entire episode had been a breakthrough for the older man, he knew, and for the first time in weeks he felt optimistic that things might finally be turning around.

# # # # #

Chewing carefully and slowly, Mike had managed to work his way through the cheese omelette without too much discomfort. With a satiated smile, he pushed the empty plate away and sat back. "Thank you… that really hit the spot."

Steve smiled and nodded. "You're welcome. They didn't turn out too bad after all," he chuckled.

"No, they sure didn't." Mike looked at his watch, surprised it was as late as it was. "I don't usually eat at this hour…" He shook his head in resignation and acceptance. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"Look," Steve said almost forcefully, standing up. "I'm going to make you a glass of salt water so you can rinse your mouth, like the doctor told you to do," he fixed his partner with a brief no-nonsense glare, "then I think you should call it a night."

Mike stared at him unblinkingly for a couple of seconds, as if he was already asleep, then nodded. "You won't get any argument from me. You need to get home too."

Steve snorted dryly. "I'm not going anywhere, not tonight."

"But you don't have any –" Mike began slowly.

"Clothes… I know," Steve cut him off. "It's still summer, remember? I can sleep in my briefs and go home and change first thing in the morning." He had taken a glass out of the cupboard and was running the hot water.

"It's summer in San Francisco, remember?" the native reminded the non-native. "August nights are cold here."

"You've got blankets, don't you?"

Mike closed his eyes and shook his head wryly, giving up with soft chuckle. "You win…"

After stirring vigorously to dissolve the salt crystals, Steve laughed as he held the glass out. "Here, I think you've gotta do this over the sink."

With a weary sigh, Mike got to his feet.

# # # # #

He was staring up at the ceiling he really couldn't see in the dark room, his mind refuses to shut down, going over and over the events of the past few hours. He didn't hear the younger man push the door open and approach the bed until he heard the soft, "You still awake?"

Too tired to startle, he just laid there, but he did chuckle softly. "I sure am," he said quietly. He could barely see his young friend in the muted light from the bottom of the staircase.

Steve sat gently on the side of the bed. "How's your lip doing?"

"It's sore," the older man admitted.

"You want to take a painkiller. I've got a bottle of Tylenol." He held it up and shook it.

Mike smiled lopsidedly. "Please, no… I'm sick of taking painkillers… I've taken too many of them lately. I can live with this, believe me."

Steve grinned back, stuffing the pill bottle in his dressing gown pocket.

Mike frowned playfully. "Is that my robe?"

Looking down at himself and chuckling, the younger man nodded. "Yeah, it's a little big…"

Mike chuckled then sobered. "Hey, ah, thanks for being there for me tonight…"

Steve smiled at him. "No problem…" They looked at each other silently for several long beats. "Listen, ah, I know it's been a rough few weeks… for both of us but for you definitely more than me… and we've both had a rough time and a lot of hard decisions to make… but I want you to think about something, Mike." He paused and took a deep breath. "Do you honestly think, after what you did tonight, that your days on the street are over? Because I sure don't, and neither does anybody else."

Staring at his partner unflinchingly, Steve got slowly to his feet then crossed to the open door. Mike's eyes followed him as he turned back, met the hard stare for a couple of tense seconds, then stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Mike's head turned slowly to stare into the black void above him once more. The back of his throat constricted and his eyes grew moist. And as the silent tears slid down his temples onto the pillow, his ragged breaths filled the silent room.


	93. Chapter 93

**Thanks for hanging in there, everyone who's still reading... It will come to an end eve****ntually...**

**Thanks to my loyal reviewers as well, especially poor Amanda who is now DVD-less - hope **

**this helps!**

"Oh good, you're up," Steve greeted his partner with a smile when the somewhat groggy and disheveled Mike, his bathrobe over his pajamas, appeared in the kitchen entrance. "Did you get any sleep?"

The older man cleared his throat, blinking slowly and exaggeratedly. "Yeah, I think so…" His voice was low and thick, and he was still having a little trouble talking around the swollen lip.

"How's that doing?" Steve nodded at his partner's face as he took a cup out of an upper cupboard and filled it with fresh coffee from the percolator.

Mike reached up and gently touched the right side of his face. "Feels about the same… How does it look?"

Squinting slightly, Steve tilted his head. "Ah, it looks about the same size… and you've got a bruise coming out on your chin."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Great. I better start figuring out what I'm going to tell Jeannie tomorrow."

Steve chuckled as he put the cup on the counter near the milk and sugar. "Look, ah, I want to go home and change and then get to the office. Are you gonna be okay here on your own today?"

The older man nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I really don't feel like going anywhere so you don't have to worry about that."

"Okay, great. I'll pick you up some more groceries today but you've got oatmeal for breakfast," he pointed at the pot of water, already on the stove and the package of Quaker Oats on the counter, "and there's soup for lunch, chicken noodle or vegetable… take your pick." He smiled with a nod. "And I'll bring something soft for dinner – maybe lasagna. How does that sound?"

Mike nodded again. "Sounds good."

"Okay, great, well, I'm outa here." He picked up a piece of toast that had been lying on a small plate on the counter and stuck it in his mouth. As he brushed past the older man, Mike stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Listen, ah, thanks…"

Steve smiled warmly, taking the toast out of his mouth. "Have a nice relaxing day, don't forget to rinse your mouth with salt water after you eat, and I'll see you tonight for dinner." He jammed the piece of toast back into his mouth as he crossed the living room, grabbed his jacket and keys and was out of the house in a flash.

# # # # #

He was no sooner through the door when he was verbally assaulted on all sides by his curious and worried colleagues. Haseenjian's voice was the one that cut through the din. "Steve, is what we're hearing right – Mike beat the hell out of one of his neighbors last night?"

Chuckling, the young inspector pushed his way through the group to his desk, shrugging off his jacket and dropping it on the back of his chair. He looked up at their anxious faces, amongst whom now was Devitt. He smiled enigmatically and shrugged. "You heard right, Norm," he said simply.

To a chorus of "What?"'s he raised his hands placatingly and took half a step back. "One of his neighbors was drunk last night and starting beating the hell out of his wife in front of his two kids… and Mike, ah, subdued him…"

"By pounding his head into the floor?" Healey asked, his brow furrowed. When Steve glared at him, he shrugged apologetically, glancing at the others before clarifying, "Well, that's the scuttlebutt…"

Steve smiled ironically. "Well, for once the scuttlebutt is right," he reluctantly admitted.

"Is he okay?" Tanner asked, frowning.

Nodding, Steve looked at his colleague with a reassuring smile. "He got punched once in the jaw – split his bottom lip." He gestured at his own face. "He's got three stitches on the inside of his lip…" Most of the others winced. "But he didn't reinjure his ribs, he's just got a sore mouth so he's going to lie low for a couple of days."

"Well, that's good to hear," Devitt spoke for them all before turning to look at his men. "Okay, fellas, let's get back to work, shall we? Those cases aren't solving themselves…"

With a lot of good-natured grumbling, the members of the SFPD Homicide division moved back to their desks, many of them urging Steve to give his partner their best wishes.

"Listen, ah, Steve, can I have a word?" Devitt requested quietly, nodding towards the inner office.

"Sure," the younger man agreed, following the captain into the small room and dropping into the guest seat. Devitt closed the door and perched on the corner of the desk.

"Listen, ah, I'll come right to the point, Steve. How's Mike doing… really? I mean, there's rumors going around the squad that he's thinking about not coming back." The older man looked concerned. "Any truth to that?"

Steve leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and looked at the floor before up at his boss. "To be perfectly honest, Roy, I have no idea. I wish I did."

"So he's really thinking about it?"

"Yeah, I really think he is. I think he doesn't believe he can cut it on the street anymore." The younger man shrugged almost sadly.

"Why the hell does he think that?"

"Well, he hasn't recovered as fast as he'd hoped –"

"You're kidding me, right?! He got shot, for god's sake! And now he's been in two fights and a car accident! What, does he think he's Superman?!" Devitt's sudden vehemence would've been amusing under any other circumstance.

"Well, that's part of it, that's for sure," the inspector continued calmly, swallowing a smile. "I think he's also seeing the younger guys in the squad coming to the fore –"

"Like you," the captain interrupted gently with an understanding nod.

Steve hesitated for a split second. "Yeah." He exhaled softly. "Anyway, he thinks the time may have come for him to pass the torch, so to speak, and take that captaincy they keep offering him and sit behind a desk… like you did."

Devitt stared at him without blinking for several long seconds. "That's ridiculous," he said eventually. "He's still the best street cop we've got… he's got to realize that, right…?"

Steve tilted his head and shrugged, sitting back. "I don't know, Roy, I really don't. He won't talk to me about it, so I don't know what he's thinking. I'm trying, believe me, but I don't want to push him 'cause that'll just backfire." He shrugged again. "I don't know… but I do think that what happened last night…? Well, I'm just hoping that taking down that guy all by himself will show him that he's not done yet… but who the hell knows, right?" He shrugged again, this time in frustration.

Devitt sighed. "Well, keep on it, okay… There's a whole lot of people that don't want to see this place without Mike heading up the squad so…" He shrugged helplessly.

Nodding, Steve got up and stepped to the door.

"And listen, ah, if you need a hand in convincing him that he's not through yet…?"

Steve smiled gratefully. "I will, Roy, thanks. And, ah, don't worry. I'm not going to give up without one helluva fight." He opened the door then looked back. "Oh, ah, Jeannie's coming home tomorrow for a couple of weeks. She doesn't know anything about what happened the last couple of months so we'll see if Mike tells her. And I think that's going to tell us which way he's leaning."

Devitt nodded soberly. "Well, let's just hope he makes the right decision for everyone."

# # # # #

Mike opened the door with a lopsided smile. "Greg, Tom," he nodded as he took a step back, allowing the two detectives to move past him into the living room. "Have a seat."

"Mike," they both acknowledged with nods as they crossed to the couch and sat. They all knew the reason for the visit so there was no need for pretense.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

Sergeant Greg Marcus glanced at his partner and they both shook their heads. "No, thanks, we're good. This isn't going to take too long, Mike," he said pleasantly as the Homicide lieutenant settled himself in the recliner.

Sergeant Tom Daley nodded towards Mike's chin. "That looks painful. How does it feel?"

Reflectively, Mike reached up and gently touched his face. "Still hurts like hell," he admitted with a soft chuckle, his words still thick but understandable. He pointed at his lip. "I've got three stitches on the inside."

Both sergeants winced. "Ouch," Daley commiserated. "Well, I know we're supposed to be impartial but that bastard deserved it."

"How is he?" Mike asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Marcus snorted. "You don't have to worry about him pressing charges of excessive force, Mike. As far as we, and the department, are concerned, what you did yesterday you didn't do as a cop but as a private citizen. And you did what you had to do to stop him from possibly killing his wife… and doing god knows what to his kids."

Mike dropped his eyes, nodding soberly. "Is he out of the hospital?"

Daley nodded. "Oh yeah, they released him this morning. He's battered and bruised, of course… and he looks a little worse than you do… but he's all right. He was charged this morning with two counts of assault and battery, and the D.A. is thinking of adding attempted murder."

Mike frowned and leaned forward sharply. "Is his wife that bad?" he asked anxiously and both sergeants quickly shook their heads.

"No no no," Marcus assured quickly. "She's going to make it, but she's going to be in the hospital for awhile. She has a dislocated shoulder, a broken jaw and a concussion, and a fracture of the bone around her left eye socket… they, ah, they think she might lose her eye…" He finished softly, letting the weight of his words sink in.

Mike closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

Daley looked at his partner then back at the lieutenant. "I know what you're thinking, Mike… that if you'd just gotten there sooner you could've stopped it. But from what we were told, you got there as soon as you could, right?"

The Homicide detective had opened his eyes and was staring at Daley without expression. "Who told you that?" he asked quietly.

"Brian Hollister… their son. He told us about running out of the house to find help and he saw you driving up in your car… He told us what you did…" Daley glanced at his partner again. "We're not here to question anything you did, Mike… We just need you to confirm what we already know, that's all."

Mike nodded slowly. He knew they were just doing their job and were not there to pass judgment. He cleared his throat and leaned forward again. "What's going to happen to the kids while the mother is in the hospital?"

"Oh, ah, they have an aunt lives down in San Jose," Marcus said with a soft smile. "Their mother's sister. She came up this morning. She's going to take them until Mrs. Hollister gets out of the hospital." He smiled warmly. "Don't worry, they're in good hands."

Inhaling deeply, Mike nodded gratefully then he leaned forward again. "So, ah, so what do you need from me?"

# # # # #

Steve looked at the man sitting on his right; Mike was slumped in the front seat, his arms crossed, staring through the windshield expressionlessly. He had no idea what the older man was thinking, and he wasn't going to try to figure it out. For the first time in a long time, he had no idea what was going on in his partner's head. And that worried him.

The past 24 hours had gone by with little or no fanfare. Mike had kept his word and stayed home, allowing his lip to continue to heal. It was still very swollen and angry looking but he swore it was a lot less painful. He had spent his time cleaning the house, doing laundry and dishes, and thinking about his future.

Steve had spent the majority of his time in the office, still trying to solve the riddle of the Goodman murder, still unsuccessful. He had made the promised grocery run for his partner, and they had shared a subdued dinner of lasagna the previous night.

Steve had arrived in the moss green LTD a half hour ago and picked his partner up. And now they were sitting in the car on Folsom, waiting for the Greyhound bus from San Diego to arrive.

"You okay?" he asked quietly and Mike's eyes turned towards him slowly.

"Yeah," the older man nodded with a brief smile.

"Have you figured out what you're going to tell her?"

Mike shook his head and sighed heavily. "No…"

Steve snorted and reached out to gently slap his partner's arm. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out."

Mike chuckled dryly.

They heard the growing roar of a diesel engine and the large Greyhound bus rolled by them, turning into the Folsom station. Glancing across the seat, his eyes wide and his expression borderline terrified, Mike opened the door and climbed out of the car.

Steve watched as his partner crossed the darkening street to stand with a group of others waiting on the sidewalk. The bus door opened and the passengers started to disembark. He saw his partner suddenly throw his arms wide as Jeannie stepped into view and, clutching her purse, crossed the short distance to her father at a run, throwing herself into his embrace.

Grinning, Steve settled back in the seat. _Wait'll she gets a good look at his face,_ he thought to himself.


	94. Chapter 94

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. It had been a very long trip and she was very tired but seeing her father waiting for her never failed to bring joy to her heart and a grin to her face. "Oooohhh it's so great to see you," she murmured, her head against his chest as she felt his strong arms pull her closer, his cheek against the top of her head.

"It's great to see you too, sweetheart," he moaned back with a low, warm chuckle.

They stood in each other's embrace for several long seconds before she started to pull away. "I just have to wait for my suitcase and then we can go home. Is Steve with you?" she asked casually as she took a step back, pulling out of his arms and looking up at him. She froze, her eyes widening. "Mike?! Oh my god, what happened?!"

Her exclamation was just loud enough that many of the nearby heads turned in their direction. Glancing around uncomfortably, Mike tried to smile placatingly. "I'm okay, I'm okay…" he said quickly and quietly, putting a hand on her elbow and pulling her a little closer. "I just got punched, okay? I'm all right. I'll tell you all about it in the car." He glared at her as if daring her to pursue the issue any further at the moment.

She stared back at him, eyes narrowing. He stood his ground for a couple of beats before he glanced over her shoulder. "Your suitcase is right over there," he said flatly, pointing towards the bus.

Still glaring at him she backed up a couple of steps then turned and strode rapidly towards her suitcase. She picked it up, thanked the bus driver, and returned to her father with her jaw set.

"Will you relax," he said with an attempt at a chuckle as he put his hand out to take her suitcase. She pulled it back but he grabbed it anyway and almost yanked it out of her hand. "It's my face, not my arm," he growled good-naturedly as he put his other arm around her shoulders and steered her in the direction of the car.

As they started across the dark street, she finally pulled her eyes from her father's profile and looked towards the car. Steve had gotten out and was leaning against the front fender, his hands in his pockets, and he was watching father and daughter coming towards him with a big smile. "Jeannie!" he laughed when she caught sight of him. "Welcome home!"

Try as she might, she couldn't help but break into a broad smile when she saw him. She slipped out from under her father's light embrace and walked into the younger man's arms for a brief hug. "Well, at least you look like _you're_ in one piece," she said with a pointed glance at her father as he crossed to the back of the car; the trunk was already open and he hefted the heavy suitcase into it with a low grunt.

"I am, I promise," Steve chuckled as he opened the back door and gestured for her to get in.

She looked at her father, who had slammed the trunk shut and crossed around to the other back door. He shot her an almost pleading look as he got into the back seat and, with one more miffed glance at Steve, she did the same.

Rolling his eyes and exhaling loudly, Steve closed the door then got in behind the wheel. As he turned the key in the ignition, he glanced into the rearview mirror. Jeannie was glaring at her father again and he was looking at her sideways like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. As he pulled the LTD away from the curb, he heard her ask, "So spill. You said you'd tell me what happened when we were in the car."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Mike said slowly.

She nodded, not taking her eyes off his profile. The still swollen lip was hidden from her for the moment but she had seen enough in the dim lights of the bus station and the street to worry. "Yes, you did," she reiterated and he knew he didn't have a choice.

He turned slightly towards her. "Sweetheart, do you remember the Hollisters? They live two houses down from us, towards 19th?"

She nodded. "Yeah, with the two kids… Brian and Cathy." She frowned. "Why, did something happen to them?"

Mike took a deep breath and smiled sadly. "Two nights ago the father got drunk and starting beating up his wife…"

Jeannie's frown had gotten deeper and she gasped. "And you stopped him?" she asked breathlessly.

Looking at her sheepishly, Mike nodded. "Yeah… their son, ah… Brian, you said?" She nodded. "He, ah, I was just getting home…" He almost said ' from Colma' but hesitated, and in that split second he realized she might misinterpret it to mean he was coming home from the office, and he was not about to dissuade her from that erroneous assumption at the moment. "And, ah, he ran up to me as I was getting out of the car. He said his dad was drunk and hitting his mom." He shrugged helplessly, looking under her from under a lowered brow.

"He hit you?" she asked softly.

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Just once, when I first got to him and pulled him off his wife. He didn't touch me after that."

Her face had begun to crumble slightly and she reached up to gently touch his left cheek. He smiled encouragingly, putting his hand on her knee and squeezing. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked softly.

"Umh-humh," he nodded, smiling. "I've got three stitches on the inside of my lip but it's healing great. No worries."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Does it hurt?"

He smiled reassuringly. "It did at first but not anymore." He patted her knee then took his hand away. "So, Steve and I were wondering if you've had something to eat or are you up to a late dinner with your two favorite men?"

She looked from her father into the rearview mirror to meet Steve's eyes and back again, confused. "Oh, you mean you two?" she asked then grinned and started to laugh.

"Ha ha, very funny, young lady," her father growled playfully, raising his right hand to pretend to smack her.

"I see San Diego hasn't changed you any," Steve laughed from the front seat.

"What's to change?" she challenged with an insouciant chuckle. "I thought I was perfect already?" She threw her head back and giggled.

Both men laughed again; Mike threw his left arm around her and pulled her close, relieved that he had managed to get past these first awkward moments relatively unscathed. She had believed his explanation about his split lip without too much skepticism and he was immensely grateful for that but, then again, it wasn't a lie… or an omission. There were still deep waters to wade.

"So, where are you taking me?" she asked, looking up at her father as she snuggled against him in the back seat.

Mike glanced at his partner. "There's a new little Chinese place near the Bay Bridge. Norm recommended it to Steve –" He stopped himself abruptly, realizing he had made his first mistake. He closed his eyes briefly, hoping she wouldn't notice. It was subtle but right there; why would Norm Haseejian make the recommendation to Steve and not to both of them…?

She pulled away from him slightly. "_Norm _recommended it? You guys haven't been there yourselves?"

Mike could see his partner glance at him in the rearview mirror.

"We haven't had a chance yet," Steve offered as they slowed to a stop at a red light. "If you can believe this, we're still working on a case that we started before you left."

Jeannie's blue eyes turned to his father and widened. "Are you kidding? That's two months. What in the world -?" she began then stopped herself. "No no, tell me over dinner. I want to know all the gory details," she chuckled.

"But I want to talk about what you were doing in San Diego, all your not-so-gory, I hope, details…" Mike almost whined and she stared at him with fake sympathy and patted his knee.

"There's going to be plenty of time in the next two weeks for me to bore you with all the exciting architectural concepts I came home with." Her voice was dripping with amused sarcasm. "I mean, I wasn't exactly helping design the Eiffel Tower, you know… it was pretty dull for, you know, lay people…"

Mike looked at her blankly. "Lay people…?"

She frowned. "Yeah, you know, people who –"

"I know what 'lay people' means, young lady," Mike pretended to be offended. "So you're saying Steve and I wouldn't be able to understand all that highfalutin architectural jargon that you're going to start spewing now?"

She could hear Steve chuckling in the front seat.

"Highfalutin? I'll give you highfalutin, mister," she growled with a laugh and leaned into him playfully, trying to tickle him. Laughing, he wrapped his left arm around her again and pulled her close, pinning her as she started to laugh, giving up and snuggling against him. He kissed the top of her head.

Steve glanced into the rearview mirror. He smiled affectionately, but his heart was heavy. He knew Mike would be able to pull the wool over his daughter's eyes for only so long. The young woman was very astute when it came to her father, and he knew it would only be a matter of time until she figured out that there was something terribly amiss.

"We're here," he announced as he swung the large sedan to the curb and turned off the engine.

Mike kissed Jeannie's hair once more then let her go and opened the door, chuckling. She slid after him and got out on the same side. Steve joined them on the sidewalk. They looked up at the hand-painted sign over the small eatery: Yantzee River. Then, as one, their eyes dropped to the large glass windows; the place was empty.

The men looked at each other, both wearing skeptical frowns. "We've never gone to one of Norm's recommended restaurants before, have we?" Mike's question was more of a statement.

Steve shook his head slowly. "What do you think?"

Mike looked from his partner to his daughter then through the windows of the empty restaurant again. He shrugged. "Well, we're already here… why don't we give it a shot?"

Steve and Jeannie exchanged an expressionless glance then faced the older man again. They both shrugged and nodded.

"Okay," Mike said apprehensively under his breath as he approached the door and held it open for the other two to enter.

# # # # #

Steve lowered his chopsticks and looked at his partner with an amused smile. "This reminds me of Palm Springs," he said with a chuckle.

Mike frowned, chewing. He swallowed before asking warily, "What part, exactly?"

Jeannie was looking at them both curiously. They had told her in broad strokes about the complications of the Trammel/Goodman case and how they had hit a dead end in ascertaining exactly who had offed Goodman, but they had been sparse with the details. She was used to that, knowing that discussing still open cases with civilians was frowned upon.

Steve glanced almost guiltily at Jeannie before looking at his partner again. He realized Mike was terrified that one of them would accidentally mention something that would trigger Jeannie's suspicion about her father's health.

"Ah, the restaurant, remember…?" Steve prompted hesitantly, watching as Mike instantly relaxed.

"Palm Springs?" Jeannie asked, looking from Steve to her father, frowning. "You two were in Palm Springs?"

Mike turned wide eyes towards her. "I didn't tell you?" he asked with impressive innocence. She shook her head. "Oh, sorry, I thought I did. We were just there for a couple of days, checking out some leads."

"And Rudy had recommended this restaurant to us," Steve took over easily, "and we both had our reservations because… well, it was Rudy…" He smiled and Jeannie chuckled knowingly.

"Yeah, but it turns out he was right. It was a great restaurant," Mike laughed. He looked across the table at his partner. "We never did thank him, did we?"

"No, I don't believe we did."

Jeannie grinned. "So, did you get to see any movie stars?"

Mike tilted his head. "We weren't in that part of town, I'm afraid. There are two Palm Springs, we've learned… the hoity-toity side and the side where the normal people, like us, live."

They all laughed.

"But do you know who does live there?" Mike asked, sounding for all the world like an excited tourist.

Steve sat back, watching silently, continuing to eat, as an animated Mike regaled his beloved daughter with the stories he had heard of the illustrious denizens of the southern California city. And she was hanging on his every word, unable to mask the love and pride in her eyes as stared at her father with a warm smile.

He swallowed heavily. This was all an illusion, he knew, this wonderfully comfortable moment, this easy camaraderie. He knew it wouldn't last, that this remarkably perceptive young woman would eventually see past their copacetic façade and the real truth of the past two months would come to the fore.

And then how many more lives would change, he wondered.


	95. Chapter 95

"Thanks, Steve," Jeannie chuckled as her father's partner stood at the door of the De Haro house gasping for air and trying to smile.

He had just lugged her heavy suitcase up the steep concrete stairs. He pointed at the offending piece of luggage. "What… have you got… in there anyway…?" He stared at her, doing his best to ignore the amused smirk of her father who was standing at the coat closet, taking off his windbreaker and fedora.

"Books, actually," she said with wide grin. "Books on –"

"Architecture," Steve finished for her, wide-eyed, his chest still heaving. "Of course," he continued, half to himself, "what else would they be? The thickest, heaviest books in the library, if I remember correctly."

She smiled in commiseration. "I know, I'm sorry…"

He gasped again. "No problem." He looked over her shoulder. "I'll see you in a couple of days, okay?"

Mike looked at him and smiled. "You got it. Hey, ah, thanks for driving."

"My pleasure." Steve looked at her again. "Welcome home, and I'll see you soon." He reached for the door as he stepped back out onto the landing.

Jeannie glanced over her shoulder at her dad then said quickly, "Say, ah, I was thinking of cooking a big dinner tomorrow night. Can you join us?"

Steve glanced at his partner again and the older man smiled and nodded. "Sure, I'd love to. I'll come by after work."

"Perfect," she grinned then took a quick step forward to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for all your help."

Smiling, Steve nodded. "You're welcome. See you tomorrow."

After he had closed the door, Jeannie turned to her father, frowning slightly. "You're not going to work tomorrow?"

He smiled and crossed towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "No, I'm not. I'm taking a few days off – to spend with you and," he pointed vaguely at his face, "because of this."

Smiling worriedly, she put her arms around him and squeezed. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her head against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her lightly and patted her back. "I'm fine, don't worry about me." He hugged her briefly then put his hands on her upper arms and held her away so he could look at her face. "Hey, you want to have a cup of cocoa before we call it a night?"

She smiled. It was one of the rituals she shared with her father that was always dear to her heart. "You bet I do."

"All right, you lug that heavy suitcase of yours up to your room and unpack and I'll put the kettle on. I'll let you know when it's ready." He released her and turned her towards the suitcase near the door, smacking her lightly on the bum with a chuckle then scurrying towards the kitchen before she could reciprocate.

She smiled after him before picking up the suitcase and dragging it up the stairs one heavy step at a time.

# # # # #

"Ummm, this is so good," she murmured with delight as she took a sip of the steaming hot chocolate, wrapping both hands around the warm mug as she curled up on the sofa. "I missed this…"

"Well, it was probably too hot down in San Diego for something like this, wasn't it?" Mike was sitting back in the recliner, his own mug in his hands.

"Oh, yeah, it sure was. I missed the cool nights here… Give me rainy and foggy San Francisco anytime over that heat," she chuckled.

Laughing, Mike nodded as he took a sip, staring at this daughter over the rim of the cup. It always felt so good to have her home.

She took another sip, her eyes on the cup, then lowered it and ran her index finger around the rim. He knew what that little gesture meant: she wanted to ask him something but was a little reluctant. He waited. Finally she looked up. "Mike, I know you told me about what happened with Mr. Hollister the other night… and I know he hit you… but what really happened…? I mean, what happened with the kids…?"

Mike smiled. Jeannie had always loved children and her antenna went out when she heard that one of his cases involved a child or a young adult. And this hitting so close to home, literally and figuratively, was twice as upsetting for her, he realized. This time, he knew, he wasn't going to lie to her.

"They're okay, they're with their aunt… their mother's sister, down in San Jose. They're going to be staying with her until their mother gets out of the hospital."

"She's still in?" Jeannie asked, alarmed.

He nodded. "Yeah, she was pretty badly beaten up. He broke her jaw and dislocated her shoulder…" He paused and swallowed heavily; the image of the helpless woman on the floor, her husband's flailing fists, her screams of pain and fear, all flashed through his mind.

"Oh god," Jeannie breathed, biting her bottom lip. She had pulled her legs in even tighter and was huddled against the corner, looking small and vulnerable.

Mike's heart started to pound, knowing it could so easily have been his daughter, anyone's daughter, in that same frightening scenario. He felt his throat tighten.

"Did the kids see what was going on?" she asked quietly.

Reluctantly he nodded. "The boy tried to pull his father off his mother just before I got to him… the little girl was standing in the corner of the kitchen… watching it all…" His voice had faded to a whisper.

Jeannie sat perfectly still, watching him for several long beats. "What's going to happen to him?"

Mike blinked rapidly several times, clearing the moisture from his eyes, and looked at her, frowning slightly. "The father…?"

She nodded. "Yeah…"

Tilting his head slightly, Mike raised his eyebrows. "Well, he's being charged with two counts of assault causing bodily harm, and they're thinking of charging him with attempted murder, the last I heard…" He smiled at her reassuringly. "He won't be getting anywhere near his family for a long time, I can guarantee you that."

She smiled softly, staring at him without expression for several long seconds. Uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze, he took a sip of his cocoa. "I'm really proud of you, Daddy… You're a real hero, you know that?" Her voice was barely above a whisper and he knew she was struggling not to cry.

Embarrassed, he dropped his eyes and shook his head. "I'm no hero, Jeannie, I just did what anybody else would've done in the same situation, that's all." He looked up and smiled. "Besides, every kid thinks their father's a hero, right?" he chuckled warmly.

Her expression didn't change. An almost tense silence lengthened between them as he stared at her uncertainly.

"Really?" she almost breathed. "Ask Brian and Cathy Hollister if they believe that now…"

# # # # #

He opened his eyes slowly. The sun was up; he had no idea what time it was but he knew it was well beyond his usual waking time. He turned his head to look at the clock/radio. 8:37.

He pushed himself up quickly, throwing the light blanket off his legs as he dropped his feet to the floor. As a man who usually didn't sleep past 6:30 at the latest, even on his day off, this was beyond the pale. And he didn't want Jeannie to get suspicious.

On his trip to the bathroom and back, he could hear her puttering around downstairs, obviously already up and about. He threw some clothes on quickly and got down there, strolling into the kitchen nonchalantly. "Good morning," he greeted her with a big smile, coming up behind her at the stove, putting his hands on her shoulders and leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

She glanced up, grinning. "Good morning. You slept late," she remarked casually as she gently stirred the scrambled eggs and he tensed slightly, taking his hands off her shoulders and stepping towards the fridge.

"Yeah, I was tired, I guess," he replied with a chuckle as he opened the fridge and took out the orange juice.

"I guess. I'm making bacon and eggs, as if you couldn't tell," she giggled, "and I've got some scones baking as well."

As he poured the orange juice into the small glass on the table, he glanced at her with raised eyebrows. "Wow, you've been busy this morning."

"I got up early… couldn't sleep. Guess I'm just excited about finally being home," she laughed, flashing him a warm smile. "So listen, I thought that after breakfast we could go grocery shopping? I see I need to stock the fridge again and maybe we can swing by Tony's and get a nice pot roast for tonight. How does that sound?"

"That sounds perfect, sweetheart, whatever you want to do today. I'm at your service," he said with a chuckle, dropping into his chair and unfolding the newspaper that was sitting at his spot.

"I like the sound of that," she chuckled, opening the oven door to check on the scones and bacon. With a satisfied nod, she closed the door and returned to the eggs. She shot a glance over her shoulder. "What's going on in the world today, other than, you know, _President Ford_…?" She shook her head in disbelief again.

"I know, hunh? Who'da thought this summer would be one for the history books?"

"Well, I don't want to think about it anymore… my ears got talked off down in San Diego. That's all everybody was talking about all summer… I've had enough of it."

Mike chuckled. "Well, you're safe here, unless of course Steve goes on a tear. I know he watched the Watergate hearings like he had money on it but he's been quiet for awhile. Maybe he's been waiting for you to come home so he could vent…" His laughter got even louder.

"Oh I hope not," she chuckled softly. "I've had it with politics for awhile…" She turned off the burner and the oven. "Say, are the Giants in town?"

Mike looked up. "They sure are. They start a homestand with the Pirates tomorrow night. Wanna go?"

"Can you get tickets?" she smiled as she opened the oven door and started to take the scones and bacon out.

"Of course I can," he grinned then shrugged with a smirk. "It won't be hard… they really aren't having a great year…"

"Good, let's do that. See if Steve and Mel want to come with us… well, if she's not working, that is…"

She was busy forking the bacon onto their plates on the counter and didn't see his head come up quickly and the guilty look flash across his face. He tried to keep his voice neutral. "Ah, yeah, if she's not working… we can ask him tonight…" He looked back at the newspaper but the words were floating before his eyes. He knew he had to alert Steve somehow to prepare him for what was going to be an awkward conversation. He only hoped the younger man had decided just how much of the truth he wanted to tell Jeannie; he also knew if Steve was going to be completely honest with her, then he had to be too. There would be no getting around it anymore.

Jeannie approached the kitchen table with the two plates, putting one down in front of her father then sitting in the other chair with a smile.

Mike dropped the paper to the floor beside his chair. "Wow, this looks good. Thanks, sweetheart." He picked up his glass of orange juice and held it out in a toast. She did the same.

"You're welcome." They ate in silence for a couple of minutes before she put her fork down and looked at him expressionlessly.

He glanced up at her between bites and froze. "What?"

She leaned back slightly. "I see you've gone through all those frozen meals I left you."

Warily, he smiled and nodded. "I sure did. They were delicious."

"So you didn't catch dinner out with Steve as often as you usually do?"

He frowned. He was pretty sure he knew what she was driving at but he decided to play dumb. "Ah, no, ah, I got to eat at home quite a bit." He chuckled. "Lucky me…"

She nodded noncommittally. "Good." She paused and he tensed even more. He knew she wasn't finished. "And, ah, I noticed you re-grouted the bathtub… and there's all new caulking on the baseboards on the stairs and up in the hallway…"

Picking up a scone and taking a bite, he nodded. His mind was reeling; he knew where she was going now.

She stared at him. "If you were so busy with that unsolved case, when did you get the time?" she asked quietly.

He stared back, chewing, stalling. But he knew the jig was up. He dropped his eyes, swallowed, put the scone down on his plate then looked at her again.

"When have you ever had the time to do something like that?" She fixed him with an unyielding stare. "What's going on, Mike?"


	96. Chapter 96

He stared at her without blinking for a long second. "What do you mean?" he asked almost casually.

She didn't take her eyes off his face. "You know exactly what I mean, Daddy. What's going on? How come you've had all this time off to get things done around the house?"

He swallowed heavily. She so rarely called him 'Daddy' that each time she did it felt like a knife through his heart, as he always felt he had upset her in some way, whether intentionally or not. Very slowly, he picked the napkin up off his lap and set it on the table beside his plate, meeting her eyes the entire time. "I'm all right," he said softly, trying to reassure her.

He watched as she bit her bottom lip, unable to stop the tears springing suddenly to her eyes. She inhaled deeply and slowly. "What happened?" she asked softly.

He smiled quickly and disarmingly. "Nothing happened, sweet-"

"Don't lie to me, Daddy," she interrupted sharply, glaring at him, then seemed to gain some measure of control. "Please don't lie to me…" she almost whispered.

After a couple of tense seconds, his smile disappearing, he closed his eyes in defeat, knowing he really didn't have a choice anymore. He couldn't lie to his daughter and she knew it. He opened his eyes, exhaling loudly, and a wistful, lopsided smile played across his lips. "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to worry. I didn't want you to worry then and I don't want you to worry now. I'm all right," he repeated with even more conviction in his voice. "Do you believe me?" He stared at her unflinchingly.

She swallowed, blinking to clear the tears in her eyes and chewing on her bottom lip. She wanted so much to believe him but there was so much she needed to know before she could make that decision. Very slowly, and almost reluctantly, she nodded and he smiled gratefully in relief. She took another ragged deep breath. "Were you shot?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He didn't move, continuing to stare at her evenly. When he didn't reply right away, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Where?" she asked, steeling herself before she opened her eyes again.

He slowly raised his right hand, her eyes widening in alarm when his fingers touched his chest so close to his heart. She bit both her lips, starting to tremble as the tears began to slide down her cheeks. Smiling reassuringly, he reached across the table, holding his right hand out for her to take.

She stared at him unmoving for a few very long seconds, then slowly wrapped her hand around his and squeezed. She opened her mouth to say something, hesitated, swallowed, then tried again. "Tell me what happened…" she breathed.

He nodded gently, closing his eyes briefly. "I will," he assured her softly, "but not here… not at the table." He glanced at the percolator on the counter. "Let's go into the living room… with a cup of that delicious coffee of yours…" He smiled warmly and after a long second, she nodded.

# # # # #

She was curled up in the corner of the sofa again, her hands wrapped around a large mug, taking comfort in its warmth as she stared at her father. He was in the recliner, knowing he needed the distance, both physical and emotional, in order to get through these next few minutes with his composure intact.

He was staring at his cup, his gaze unfocused. She waited patiently, knowing he would start talking when he was ready.

Finally he looked up and took a deep breath. "It happened the day you left…" he said simply with a small ironic smile and watched as she inhaled sharply but silently. "I was following a lead on a case… there was a… a woman holed up in Chinatown and I needed to talk to her. She was a witness. I had just gotten there, just parked the car when somebody starting shouting that there was a robbery going on in a grocery store. So I gave chase," he shrugged with a smile. "The guy'd escaped, he'd gone out the back door through the alley…"

He watched as she began to frown and he knew the question that was going through her mind. But he also knew her well enough to know she would wait until the appropriate moment to ask. So he plowed on.

"I, ah, I went down the alley, but he was long gone… and I was making my way back to the store…" He paused and cleared his throat slightly. She tensed. "The light in the alley was really bad; it was very dark but there were these… shafts of blinding sunlight… you really couldn't see very well…" He swallowed. "I was just putting my gun away… when I got shot…" he said matter-of-factly with a helpless shrug. He paused briefly, clearing his throat again and smiling mirthlessly. "Ah, luckily there were lots of officers in the area and they got me out of there fast."

He chuckled, looking down, avoiding her stare. "The doctors said I was extremely lucky… that even though I was shot in the chest it didn't hit anything." He looked at her and smiled, eyes wide. "Really… I'm not making that up. They, ah, they were even calling me their Miracle Cop." He chuckled but when there was no reaction from his daughter, his smile disappeared.

"I, ah, I was in the hospital for only a week," he shrugged as if that was the end of it, though he knew it wasn't. His daughter was brimming with questions, he knew, some of which were going to be difficult to answer honestly.

She stared at him, so many things roiling through her mind that she didn't know where to start. "Why didn't you tell me…?" she asked eventually, trying to control the trembling in her voice.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Because I wasn't in any danger, because I didn't want you to worry… and because I didn't want you to feel you had to race home to be at my side. It was such an incredible opportunity for you and I didn't want you to have to come home because of me… because of some stupid accident…"

"But it wasn't an accident, Daddy. And you could've been killed…"

He was shaking his head even before she'd finished talking. "No… no, sweetheart, no… I told you, I wasn't in any danger at any time. If I was, do you think they'd've let me out of the hospital so soon? I knew I was going to be okay the day it happened." She stared at him unflinchingly and he stared back, as if wanting her to believe him through sheer force of will.

She dropped her eyes, acquiescing temporarily. She ran the tip of her right index finger around the rim of the cup. "So who shot you? If the robber had gotten away, who shot you?" She looked up at him.

He sighed, deflating slightly. "A rookie…" he answered quietly.

She straightened up slightly and abruptly, frowning. "What?"

He bobbled his head, shrugging. "A rookie… a scared rookie. He saw my gun and he panicked…"

"Oh my god," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "Is he still on the force?" There was real anger in her voice.

Mike shook his head. "No, honey, he's been fired. He, ah, he never should've been a cop in the first place…"

She nodded softly. "Was he at least charged with something…?"

Her father looked at her warmly and shook his head again. "No… no, I asked them not to." When she started to frown, he continued quickly but gently, "It wasn't a deliberate act, sweetheart… like I said, he was a scared kid who saw a gun and panicked, that's all…" His smile got a little wider.

She looked down and took a deep breath, running her finger around the rim of the cup again. "Why wasn't Steve with you?" she asked suddenly and he started slightly, frowning. When he didn't answer right away again, she looked up sharply. "If he was with you, you would've mentioned him… and you didn't. Where was he?"

He looked at her resignedly; he knew he had to give her an answer, but he didn't want to throw his partner to the wolves while he did it. He also knew he couldn't lie, but he could be circumspect. He exhaled loudly. "He, ah… he and Mel were still up in Tahoe. They had car trouble…"

"Car trouble?" Jeannie sounded skeptical.

Mike nodded. "Yeah, a broken distributor cap. It wouldn't start. They had to wait till Monday morning to get a replacement, and that took some time. Distributor caps for Porsche's aren't easy to come by, funnily enough," he chuckled and was rewarded when his daughter smiled briefly, "and they didn't get back to The City till late afternoon. He came straight to the hospital."

She stared at him from under a lowered brow, and he couldn't tell how she felt about what he had just told her.

"Listen, sweetheart, even if he had been with me, what happened probably would've happened anyway… We'd've both probably been in that alley and it could've been a lot worse…"

After several silent seconds, she finally nodded. She gestured towards him with her chin. "Open your shirt," she ordered quietly. When he frowned but didn't move, she repeated the gesture. "Please… I need to see it."

He knew what she meant; he knew that if he was telling her the truth there would just be a small scar on his chest and not a large one from an incision. Slowly, with a soft, compliant smile, he put the coffee cup on the table beside the chair and started to undo the middle buttons of his shirt. He chuckled softly to himself; somehow knowing this was going to happen, he hadn't put an undershirt on that morning.

Staring at his daughter, who was watching his hands intently, he pulled the plackets of his shirt open to expose the small round scar from the wound next to his sternum. She stared at it, neither blinking nor breathing, for several long seconds before she closed her eyes and nodded slightly. He did the buttons back up, smiling softly.

He waited for a few beats before asking, "So, now do you believe me?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him expressionlessly then nodded.

His smile got wider. "Good… Thank you…"

She looked down at her cup again, and he knew from the look on her face that she wasn't about to let the subject go just yet. "So… so were you lying to me when you said you and Steve went down to Palm Springs?"

He frowned, smiling uncertainly. "No… no, of course not. We really did go down there."

"When?"

"A couple of weeks after the… after… you know…" He bobbled his head vaguely, not wanting to have to say the words again, the words he knew brought to mind so many frightening images for them both.

"The department let you go?" She knew from past experience that an officer injured in the line of duty, especially one who was shot or stabbed, was given more than sufficient leave to recover. He inhaled deeply and grimaced self-consciously, and she raised her eyebrows. "You didn't go _officially_, did you?" she asked quietly, knowing her father only too well.

He shrugged, clearing his throat lightly. "Steve was going to go on his own and, well, I couldn't let him do that, could I?" He chuckled under his breath, staring at her with such a hangdog expression that she had to smile.

She looked down at her cup and shook her head in loving frustration. He inhaled sharply; at moments like this, she looked so much like her mother that it literally took his breath away.

He was well aware he hadn't been completely honest with her, and there were things that he was hoping he could keep from her forever. But he had been as honest with her as he dared for now.

And knowing for his own sake that he needed to break the mood, he lifted his left forearm and glanced at his watch. "Say, ah, how about we get that kitchen cleaned up and you and I head out and buy a whole carload of groceries. What do you say?" He leaned forward slightly, eagerly.

She stared at him for several long seconds, not moving, then slowly broke into an affectionate smile. "I love you, Daddy," she said softly.

He froze, staring at her, and she saw his eyes brighten. "I love you too, sweetheart. More than you can ever know."


	97. Chapter 97

**Sorry, but this is for the Guest Reviewer (because I can't PM) who asked that I make the chapters longer**

**or publish the rest of the story all at once, a couple of things... Writing a story of any length**** takes a lot of energy, **

**mental and - remarkably - physical. I write a chapter a day, ****religiously, and each one is 2000+ words. **

**That's a lot of words, especially when time is taken to make sure that each one,**

**each phrase, and the attitude of each character is precise and moves the**

**narrative along in the way you want it to go. It can be, and most of the time is, a tiring but rewarding process.**

**I've been doing this every day for three and a half months now, and I am tired, **

**but I am going to finish in my own time and in my own way. **

**I appreciate the request, but I physically can't go any faster; I hope you can hang on till **

**I do get it finished... it won't be too long now.**

**# # # # # # # # # # # # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #**

Steve slammed the car door, glancing at his watch as he jogged across the street. The only chance he'd had all day to call the Stone household went unanswered so he'd left a message on the answering machine telling them he hoped to arrive around 6. It was now 6:23. He knew how much Mike hated tardiness, and he was pretty sure his daughter had inherited that family trait.

A bottle of wine in his left hand, he had just stepped up onto the landing and was raising his right forefinger to press the bell when the door flew open. Looking almost frantic, Mike reached out and pulled the younger man into the house as he glanced over his shoulder; there was music and the mouth-watering smells of one of Jeannie's famous pot roasts coming from the kitchen.

Steve stumbled over the threshold, regaining his footing with a glare at his partner, who had put his finger to his lips and was shushing him. Mike closed the door quietly and nodded towards the living room, leading the new arrival deeper into the house and away from the kitchen entrance.

"She knows," Mike whispered urgently, his face mere inches from his partner's.

Steve frowned. "What?" he whispered back.

"She knows… about the alley…" Mike grimaced in frustration, raising his eyebrows as he tapped his chest lightly. "I told her about the distributor cap but not how it cracked…"

Steve glanced towards the kitchen. "How did she find out?"

Mike bobbled his head in wonder, rolling his eyes. "I re-grouted the bathroom…" He shrugged, throwing up his hands.

Inclining his head, Steve's mouth dropped open. "What…?" He looked very confused.

"I'll explain later," Mike whispered quickly, staring at the kitchen as he dragged Steve back across the room. When he got to the front door he pulled it open, positioned his partner in front of it, waited a beat and then announced in a loud voice, "Well, look who the cat dragged in!" With raised eyebrows, Steve stared at the older man expressionlessly before they both looked towards the kitchen.

Drying her hands on the apron around her waist, Jeannie appeared in the entranceway with a big smile. "Hi, Steve. Glad you could make it." She glanced at her father. "I didn't hear the doorbell…"

"Ah, no, ah, I saw him coming up the steps…" Mike grinned, looking pleased with himself.

"Ah, yeah, ah… I'm glad I could make it too. Sorry I'm late," Steve shrugged and she chuckled.

"No worries, we got your message. Dinner won't be ready till 7 so you can relax."

"Great… that's good." He glanced up at Mike who was staring at him with a benevolent smile. "Oh, ah, here," he took a step towards her, holding out the liquor store bag.

"Thank you," she smiled as she took it and slid the bottle out. "Stag's Leap Cabernet…" she read, impressed. She glanced at her father before settling on Steve again. "Isn't that one of those vineyards you guys visited last month?" she asked.

Steve chuckled. "You've got a good memory." He pointed at the bottle. "That is a very good wine."

"I'll bet it is," she grinned as she started to head back into the kitchen. "I'll save this for dinner. You want a beer to start?"

"Oh, yes, please," he said with a smile. "I'll get it –"

"No no no," she said quickly, disappearing, and they heard the fridge door open. "You guys just relax tonight!"

Mike looked at the younger man and raised his eyebrows. "You heard the lady," he chuckled as he returned to the recliner.

Steve wandered over to the sofa and sat at the end near his partner as Jeannie reappeared, slowly and skillfully pouring the beer into a glass stein as she crossed the room. "Is this a talent you picked up in San Diego?" he asked with a chuckle.

Shaking her head as she handed him the glass, she glanced at her father and raised her eyebrows. "Nope. Arizona State." Giggling, she returned to the kitchen.

Holding the stein and frowning, Steve looked at Mike. "She seems to be taking everything well…" he murmured, trying to keep his voice down.

Mike looked at him with wide eyes and tilted his head. "Don't let that fool you… she's mad as hell."

"At you?"

"At both of us." When Steve's eyebrows rose in alarm, he continued quickly, glancing nervously towards the kitchen. "She's mad at me for not telling her what happened and she's mad at you for not calling her to tell her what happened…"

Steve looked towards the kitchen. He could just barely hear her singing along to the song on the radio. "She doesn't sound mad."

"You don't know her as well as I do. She has a very long fuse… just like her mother." He took a sip of his beer. "Listen, uh, she'll probably keep a civil tongue in her head tonight because… you know…" He gestured vaguely towards the younger man.

Steve frowned. "What…? Me…?"

Mike shrugged. "Right now I think I have her convinced that everything that happened to me in that alley is because of plain bad luck, and that both of us not telling her was my decision, not yours… so she's mostly mad at me. So, if I were you, I wouldn't tell her tonight that you and Mel are… you know…" He paused and raised his eyebrows. "It's better that's she mad at only one of us at a time… and she's going easy on me because she thinks I'm still on sick leave because I'm still recovering and… and this…." He gestured vaguely at his face.

"You didn't tell her about Palm Springs or the car accident?"

Shooting a worried glance towards the kitchen, Mike leaned closer to the sofa. "No, and don't let anything slip out tonight or you'll be in the doghouse with the entire Stone family," he growled quietly, pointing at himself before sitting back again.

Unfazed by his partner's toothless threat, Steve grunted softly, brow furrowed, "Well, she doesn't look that mad…"

"That's what makes her so dangerous…" Mike nodded softly then looked up and grinned when Jeannie came into the room. "That smells terrific."

"Well, I hope it tastes terrific," she said, drying her hands on the apron again, "I haven't made one since before I left for San Diego."

"So, ah, I guess you told Mike all about your time down there but you haven't told me so I'm dying to hear all about over dinner."

She cocked her head and glared at him. "Oh, you are in for one boring evening then, mister," she said seriously and he froze momentarily. It was Mike who started to laugh first; she grinned and looked at her father, chuckling.

Steve looked from daughter to father and back again then sighed, belatedly realizing she was pulling his leg.

"It's not boring at all," Mike told him as he closed the recliner and got up, his glass in his hand. She went to reach for it and he pulled it away. "No no no, I can get it. You stay in here and talk to him."

He disappeared into the kitchen and she circled the coffee table to drop heavily onto the sofa. She exhaled loudly and blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "It's hot in there."

"I bet it is," he laughed.

She looked at him. "It's too bad Mel is working tonight."

He felt his heart skip a beat. "Ah, yeah, she's works a lot. It's a very busy restaurant."

"Is it still as _hip_ as it was when I left?" she chuckled.

"Oh, I would say it's even hipper," he laughed.

"Who's even hipper?" came the booming voice from the kitchen doorway. "Me?" Mike came back into the living room with the full beer glass in his hand.

"Yeah, right," his daughter said, rolling her eyes as she pushed herself up and began to cross around the coffee table again. As Mike sat in the recliner with a big grin, she turned back to face Steve. "Oh hey, Mike and I are going to go to the Giants game tomorrow night. Can you and Mel come?"

Resisting the urge to glance guiltily at his partner, Steve hesitated only a fraction of a second before he blurted, "Ah, I'd love to go but Mel is working again. Like I said, it's a busy restaurant. I don't get to see her either…" He could feel Mike's eyes on him, and he could sense the older man relax when the little white lie flowed so easily from his lips.

Jeannie looked at her father. "So, three tickets?"

He nodded once. "I'll get on it first thing in the morning."

She smiled. "Good." She turned with a snap and almost bounced back into the kitchen.

The partners looked at each other. Mike leaned forward in the recliner and held his beer glass out; Steve picked his up. "Well done," the older man whispered as they clinked glasses.

# # # # #

Dinner passed uneventfully, the conversation mainly focused on Jeannie's time in San Diego and the special project she worked on. It had been a unique opportunity for her and she had learned so much, particularly about the area she wanted to specialize in: city planning. She passionately believed that well-planned cities, and especially bedroom communities, were going to be the wave of the future.

Both men sat in rapt attention as her passionate enthusiasm wafted over them, and Steve knew his partner was almost jumping out of his skin he was so proud of his daughter. The younger man was having an increasingly difficult time believing that this effervescent young woman, who was so obviously thrilled to be home even if it was only for a couple of weeks, was harboring any latent anger towards them like her father believed.

That was until she turned her startlingly blue eyes towards him, smiled and said smoothly, "So, Mike told me you and Mel were still up in Tahoe when he was shot… You had car trouble?"

The change in tone was so abrupt and unanticipated that both men froze. "Uh…" Steve muttered, glancing at his equally surprised partner, who was staring at his daughter from under a deeply furrowed brow, "ah, yeah, turns out the distributor cap was cracked and the car wouldn't start. It took until about noon to get our hands on one…" He shrugged.

"Yeah," she nodded pleasantly, looking at him over the top of the coffee cup she was holding in both hands in front of her face, "Mike said they're hard to come by."

He chuckled wryly and shook his head. "They sure are, and everybody seems to know that. It, ah, it cost me a lot more than I was anticipating. Luckily Mel had enough cash on her so we could get out of there…" His voice trailed off slightly and his attention wandered momentarily as he suddenly realized he'd never repaid her the forty dollars.

"Well, that was lucky, wasn't it?" Jeannie said curtly as she set the cup down on the saucer with a loud clink.

Mike was watching her warily, knowing she was building to a point. A word his daughter had used after their Independence Day barbeque – 'clingy' – sprung back to his mind and he knew she was connecting the dots, and quickly. She had obviously been thinking about this all day, ever since he had mentioned it in passing during their difficult talk that morning.

Steve glanced at the older man quickly and shifted in the chair as if he was bracing himself, for what he didn't know. But there was now a tension at the table that had seemed to come out of nowhere.

She looked up from the coffee cup straight into his eyes, smiling innocently. "So, ah, I'm curious… do distributor caps have a tendency to just crack spontaneously? I mean, I've never heard of that." With raised eyebrows, she looked from one man to the other.

Steve swallowed then smiled. "Ah, no, I don't think they do. I guess mine was just old…" He shrugged and shook his head slightly, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table.

"Or maybe someone hit it with something…?" Jeannie ventured tentatively with a wan smile and a slight shrug of her own, staring into his eyes without blinking.

He stared back, not moving for a couple of very long seconds. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. When he opened them she was still looking at him, but now with sympathy instead of accusation.

"She wanted to spend another night up in Tahoe with you, didn't she? She didn't want to let you go…" She stared at him, knowing she was making him uncomfortable but needing to get to the truth. A lot had happened in the seven weeks she had been gone, and she had been deliberately kept in the dark. Her anger, born out of worry and disappointment, was like a festering wound right now and she needed to do something about it.

When Steve didn't answer, she leaned forward slightly and pinned him with a penetrating glare. "Mel broke the cap, didn't she?"


	98. Chapter 98

Steve stared at her without moving for so long that it was Mike who finally started to fidget. The older man, whose eyes had been bouncing back and forth between his daughter and his partner, leaned forward and whispered, "Jeannie…"

"It's okay, Mike," Steve responded immediately, not taking his eyes off the young woman who was so patiently waiting for an answer. "She's right and we both know it." He tilted his head and a small, sad smile curled his lips; she continued to stare at him sympathetically. "How did you know?"

She dropped her head and inhaled deeply. "I saw that in her… at the barbeque…"

Mike sat back, folding his arms and sighing softly; Steve's eyes snapped towards him briefly but the older man's head was down. He looked back at Jeannie. "What do you mean?"

She snorted softly and looked up. There was such compassion on her face that it almost took his breath away. "You probably didn't even notice it… most men don't at first… They just think the woman is being… attentive… But it's more than that…" She reached across the table and put her hand gently on his forearm. "It's more like possession… and it's not just women who are guilty of it." She glanced at her father. "I'm sure both of you have seen the results when it gets out of hand…"

Still looking down, Mike nodded. Steve just continued to stare. He knew she was right, and he also realized that in the back of his mind he had always known that about Mel; he just hadn't wanted to admit it.

Jeannie squeezed his arm. "It's not your fault, Steve," she said quietly and under her hand she felt his muscles tighten though his face remained impassive. And she suddenly realized that this revelation about Mel was possibly just the tip of a very large iceberg. She glanced surreptitiously at her father; his head was down and he was sitting eerily still, his eyes closed.

Then all at once it became crystal clear, her father's baffling behaviour and the clues he had been inadvertently dropping, and she inhaled sharply, her other hand going to her mouth. All the pieces of the puzzle she had been trying to put together for the past twenty-four hours suddenly began to coalesce on their own. She exhaled slowly, gathering herself, knowing that she had stumbled onto a problem much larger than she could ever have imagined.

Steve was staring unfocused at the coffee cup on the table in front of him. She watched him for a long beat then squeezed his arm again. "It's not your fault," she repeated gently, "it's not your fault that Mel broke the distributor cap, it's not your fault that you were late getting home… and it's not your fault that you weren't there with Mike in the alley…"

His head snapped up, his eyes boring into hers. She stared back without moving. On the other side of the table, Mike raised his left forearm and dropped his head into his hand as he took a deep breath.

Jeannie smiled gently. "That's what you've been thinking, haven't you?" she asked rhetorically. "That if you hadn't been late getting back from Lake Tahoe then Mike wouldn't've been alone and that rookie might not have panicked." She paused and cocked her head slightly, like her father did sometimes. "And you might be right…" She felt the muscles in his arm tighten again and saw his jaw clench. "But I don't think so… and I know Mike doesn't either…" She felt more than saw her father take a deep, steadying breath. "And in your heart of hearts I don't think you believe that either… but you can't get past it, can you…?"

Steve didn't move, feeling the blood pounding in his ears and his temple. His world had suddenly shrunk to the size of this room, this table, this young woman sitting in front of him who seemed to see into his soul and read his thoughts.

She squeezed his arm again. "You haven't really seen her since you realized what she did, have you…?" she asked gently and the shake of his head was so minimal she would've missed it if she hadn't been studying him so closely. "I know you thought she was the one, Steve. I know how hard this is for you, I really do. I know how much you loved her… but I also know you love Mike more."

"Jeannie…!" Mike's head had snapped up and he was glaring at his daughter warningly.

"No!" she shot back, her head spinning towards her father and nailing him with an angry stare. "There's something going on between you two – I've felt it since the moment I saw you both at the bus station last night. And nobody's talking about it. Well, somebody has to talk about it or it's just going to get worse… And I'm not going to let that happen. I love you both too much…" Her voice faltered slightly and both men looked away slightly, Steve dropping his head to stare at the table and Mike exhaling heavily and closing his eyes.

When there was no further protest from either man, she slowly turned her attention back to Steve. Her hand was still on his arm and she increased the pressure slightly. "You're not seeing her anymore, are you?" she asked gently.

He inhaled heavily and shook his head, still not meeting her eyes.

She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and smiled at him sadly. Her heart was breaking for him. "Did, um, did she apologize to you for what she did?"

He snorted slightly, his eyes coming up to meet hers and a wistful, almost ironic smile played across his lips. "She tried to… but I wouldn't let her. I couldn't let her. The stakes were just too high."

She nodded slowly. "People like that just don't see beyond themselves a lot of the time… no matter the consequences…" She saw his eyes slide towards her father, who still hadn't moved, and she swallowed heavily.

"She wasn't the one, Steve… you have to know that by now… right…?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she was squeezing his arm almost fiercely, needing him to admit that simple fact, more for himself than for her.

He stared at the table for several long seconds before he nodded almost imperceptibly. With a gentle nod, she took her hand off his arm and sat back slightly. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, three troubled souls coming to grips with a situation that two of them had spent a great deal of time and energy trying to avoid.

She had been sitting quietly for several long seconds before she felt a gentle touch on her left forearm and looked down. Her father's hand tightened on her arm and she looked up to find him staring at her with a soft, grateful smile. Unexpected tears sprung to her eyes as she put her hand over his and squeezed. Still looking at him, she bit her bottom lip uncertainly. She was pretty sure she knew what was troubling him, and now she debated with herself whether she throw all caution to the wind and confront him now or wait until they were alone again.

She glanced at Steve, who was still sitting immobile, staring at the table. She knew his mind was racing, trying to reconcile everything that had just happened with what he had been shouldering alone for so long. It wasn't over, she knew. He still had a lot of reckoning to do, both with himself and with others… and probably, ultimately, with Mel once and for all. She didn't want to add to his grief, but she also knew she had to get her father's problem out in the open or the consequences for all of them would not be good.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, making up her mind. It was going to be a huge gamble, she knew, but one she had to take.

Exhaling loudly, she opened her eyes and stared at her father with wide, innocent eyes, trying to let him know she could see through the false bravado that everything was fine with him.

He had been staring at her with unabashed pride, in awe of the way she had handled Steve's uncertainty about Mel and all she had gently put him through. Jeannie was able to see the whole picture through a woman's eyes, something they obviously couldn't do, and from a perspective well beyond her years. It was a remarkable skill she had no doubt inherited from her mother, he thought warmly, and, maybe just a little he hoped, from him.

But when she continued to stare at him, he realized that she was not quite finished yet. He knew she had been watching him carefully all day, as if trying to figure out what was bothering him. She knew something was, of that he was certain, but he had hoped he'd been clever enough to hide it. But, once again it seemed, he had underestimated his daughter. He swallowed heavily.

Snorting softly, he smiled slightly. "What gave me away… other than re-grouting the bathroom?" he asked with a dry chuckle.

She smiled almost sadly. After a quick glance at Steve, who was still looking down, she said quietly, "I've been home for 24 hours and not once in that time have you talked about going back to work. I know you're okay… physically. You helped me carry those heavy bags of groceries up the stairs without a problem, and you've obviously been doing a lot of work around the house in the past couple of weeks, which you wouldn't've been able to do if you were still recovering so… there's only one conclusion to come to, isn't there?"

Steve's head had come up and he was staring at his partner silently, hanging on her every word as if this was something he had been thinking about but reluctant to put into words.

Jeannie glanced his way before facing her father again; she knew from the younger man's response she was on the right track. She smiled almost shyly, shaking her head slightly. Mike was eyeing her curiously. "And as a matter of fact, it _was_ the re-grouting in the bathroom… and the caulking and repainting of the baseboards… the fact that the barbeque is spotless and the oven cleaned to within an inch of its life… everything…"

He shrugged, baffled, and her smile got a little wider. "You have to remember Mom getting on your case all the time about the grout in the bathroom, and the windowsills and baseboards that needed to be repainted…"

He nodded slowly, frowning.

"And do you remember what you always used to say to her?" she prompted gently.

He didn't move for a long beat, then he snorted softly and closed his eyes, the ghost of a smile making an appearance. He opened his eyes and looked at her wistfully. "I told her I would get to it when I retired…"

She raised her eyebrows and nodded. She glanced at Steve; he was staring at her with a furrowed brow and she flashed a quick smile at him before fixing her sights on her father again.

He had tilted his head and frowned. "So that's what you think this is? That I'm going to retire?"

She shrugged. "You tell me?"

Mike stared at her for a long second then glanced at his partner. Steve was looking at him as well but he couldn't tell what the younger man was thinking. He took a deep breath, releasing it loudly and looking down. "Well, if you must know…" he began slowly, "I have been thinking about it…"

She took a beat, letting the words she really didn't want to hear sink in before asking simply, "Why?"

He stared at her calmly then shrugged slightly. "It's time…" he said simply.

"That's not the reason and you know it," she snapped back at him and his tiny sad smile disappeared. "Is it because you were blindsided in that alley and shot…? Is that it…? That you think you may have lost your nerve…?" The questions were coming slowly and tentatively, as if she was working it through herself but not coming up with any reason that made sense to her.

He began to shake his head ponderously. "No, sweetheart, no, it's not that at all…"

"Then what is it?" she almost demanded, her voice cracking slightly. She was not about to let her father bluff his way through something this important. She wanted, and needed, to get to the bottom of it.

Mike was staring at her beseechingly. "Jeannie, please –"

"It's because he thinks he's too old and the younger guys are passing him by," Steve said quietly and both sets of blue eyes snapped towards him, one pair wide and surprised, the other full of resignation.


	99. Chapter 99

Jeannie stared at Steve for several long beats, letting his words sink in slowly.

Behind her, he could see Mike glaring at him and he knew he had struck a nerve. He knew he had betrayed a trust, a trust that meant more to him than anything in the world, but he also knew that the rift between them had been steadily growing wider, though neither of them seemed to realize it or know what to do about it.

Jeannie's eyes slowly returned to her father; he glanced at her then looked down with a heavy sigh. "Is he right?" she asked softly, waiting for the answer she knew wouldn't be immediately forthcoming.

He raised his head and looked at her and she could see the conflicting emotions on his face: guilt, embarrassment, fear and even a touch of anger. She'd seen this look before and she knew how to handle it. She smiled, reaching out to softly put her hand on his arm. "Is he right?" she asked again.

He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly with an almost inaudible chuckle, not ready quite yet to throw in the towel. He knew what she was capable of doing, capable of pulling out of him. She had done it many times before. He opened his eyes and stared at her silently.

She squeezed his arm. "Daddy, you don't believe that, do you…?"

He knew she wanted an answer and she wouldn't stop until she got one. Intentionally or not, his partner had painted him into a neat little corner, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that at the moment. He would deal with that later, he promised to himself, preferably when they were alone. Right now, he had his daughter to contend with; all he had to do was figure out how.

"Jeannie, I'm not telling you anything you don't know… both of you… that there comes a time in everyone's life when they have to move aside and let the next generation step up and take their rightful place… That's all this is…" he finished quietly with a shrug, the two pairs of younger eyes growing wider as he tried to explain his decision.

Jeannie sat back sharply, pulling her hand away. Her mouth was slightly open in disbelief. "That's bullshit," she spat out eventually and Mike's head snapped back. Steve looked at her in surprise.

"Jeannie!" Mike barked reflexively, not even he quite sure if his tone was one of a parent reacting to a child's profanity or of a liar being caught out.

She didn't move, still staring unflinchingly at her father, determined not to let him get away with deflecting the conversation away from what needed to be brought out into the open. He was very good at that, she knew.

Deciding to take another tack, she looked at Steve, who was staring at his partner with his own mixture of guilt and relief that the verboten subject was finally on the table. It had been a very long seven weeks for both of them and there was a certain kind of catharsis in knowing that now, no matter how things ended up, the doubt and insecurity were no longer going to be festering beneath the surface.

"Do you think he's right?" she asked Steve point blank and saw the younger man's eyes shift guiltily from her father to her as he shook his head.

"No, I don't," he said simply, then looked at his partner again, pinning him with an uncompromising stare. "And I really don't think he does either. Not anymore."

Frowning slightly, a small knowing smile appearing on her lips, Jeannie's now sparkling blue eyes slid triumphantly back to her father, whose own patronizing smile had disappeared, replaced by a sudden wariness.

"And what do you mean by that, Steve?" she asked lightly, staring at Mike but directing her question to the younger man.

Glancing nervously in her direction, but suddenly realizing what she was trying to do, Steve leaned forward slightly, his own eyes riveted on his partner's guarded face. If there ever was a time for honesty, he knew, this was it. "I think that after he was shot, he had every reason to believe that he may have been slowing down a step or two… even though it wasn't his fault and there was nothing he could've done to stop or prevent it…"

He paused and took a deep breath, knowing that all his own problems of guilt and lack of trust stemmed from that exact same moment in time, but dealing with it was for another time. Right now Mike's salvation was their most important challenge.

"But then you saw how smoothly the office continued to run in your absence, didn't you?" Steve changed course, opting for the personal over the objective. And it worked. Mike flinched slightly and briefly closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Without waiting for a response, Steve continued, "And it did run smoothly… because you picked a good team, Mike… and you trained them well. They know what to do, and how to do it, because of what you taught them… because of what you taught me, and Bill, and Lee, and Dan, and even Norm," he smiled with a soft chuckle, "and all the outstanding officers that have come and gone through those doors over the years…" He paused and swallowed heavily, continuing to stare at the man who was now looking down, his arms folded and his eyes closed.

"And if you leave now…?" Steve shrugged to himself, feeling Jeannie's tear-filled eyes on his face, "Well, what happens to us…? What happens to all the young cops coming up that need your experience and your guidance… and your street smarts…?" He paused again then added softly. "What about me?"

He stared at Mike's downturned head, not really expecting an immediate response but hoping that his words had had the desired effect. It had taken Jeannie's intuition, persistence and instinct to ensure that this self-imposed burden stay buried no longer. And in her presence he felt his own release, as if having her there gave him permission to express things that he would otherwise keep bottled up. There was a liberation for him in the mere fact that she was sitting at the table with them, speaking open and honestly about things that more often than not were never acknowledged.

His stiff, almost defiant posture softening, slumping in the chair but trying not to look defeated, Steve lowered his voice and tempered his tone. "Mike, if you're really thinking that you don't have what it takes to be a street cop anymore… then just remember what you did the other night… the reason you've got those stitches in your lip." He snorted softly. "You took on a guy a lot younger and heavier than you are… and you came out on top… literally and figuratively," he almost chuckled, glancing at Jeannie with a glint in his eye.

Knowing what he was trying to do, she nodded at him, biting her bottom lip and trying to smile. She was obviously more rattled than she had let on.

"That doesn't tell me you're finished on the streets… in fact, it says just the opposite. You took that guy down with your fists and not your gun… and you saved that entire family…" He took a deep breath. "And, personally, I think the SFPD needs more cops like you on the streets… not fewer…"

Jeannie reached under the table, put her hand on his knee and squeezed while not taking her eyes off her father's still downturned head. Neither of them could tell how he was taking this very personal, but benevolent, attack and it made them both nervous.

"Daddy, Steve's right," she said with a soft sigh, "and you know he is. Don't kid yourself, you'd be miserable if you didn't have that job to go to, that job I know you love so much and you're so good at." When he still didn't respond, she looked at Steve and shrugged helplessly. She didn't want to push him too far and she knew anything else she said just might start to have a negative effect.

After several long seconds of an uneasy silence, Mike slowly raised his head, his face unreadable, looking first at his partner then his daughter. They both tensed, trying desperately to keep their expressions neutral. He took a deep breath then asked quietly, "Would it shut both of you up if I told you I'd think about it…?"

Trying to harness her spontaneous grin, Jeannie bit both her lips, nodding her head vigorously. Relief was obvious on Steve's face, but he managed to contain his enthusiasm behind a soft smile and gentle nod. "That's all we can ask for, I think," he said softly to Jeannie and she nodded in agreement.

His face still unreadable, Mike focused on his daughter. "Am I mistaken, or do you have an apple pie warming in the oven?"

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. "Oh my god, I almost forgot. You're absolutely right." She scrambled to her feet as the partners exchange a look of amusement.

As Jeannie crossed quickly to the oven, turning the dial to OFF before putting on the mitts and opening the door, Steve pulled his eyes from Mike's and looked down. There was so much at stake here tonight, and he knew that that brief interaction, their shared response to Jeannie's flustered alarm, was something he would miss so very much if Mike did decide to pull the pin and retire. But it was out of his hands now, he had said his piece, and there was nothing left for him to do except hope.

"Here you go," Jeannie finally said, placing dessert plates laden with large slices of steaming apple pie and a melting scoop of vanilla ice cream in front of both men then returning quickly to the counter for her own. "Dig in," she smiled as she picked up her fork and cut off the first bite.

The others really needed no such invitation.

# # # # #

The dessert portion of their meal passed without any further heavy conversation, much to everyone's relief. Steve was helping Jeannie clear the table and stack the dirty dishes when Mike got up from the table, crossed to the far end of the counter and opened the upper cupboard. Staring at Steve, he took the almost half full bottle of Glenfiddich out of the cupboard.

Standing at the sink, rinsing off a plate, the younger man froze and stared at him questioningly. Jeannie had stopped dead in her tracks at the table where she was wiping it down with a dishcloth, staring at her father as well. He wasn't a drinker of hard liquor, she knew, so this was a startling development.

Mike's eyes slid from his partner's to his daughter's and he smiled enigmatically. "Leave all that," he said to them both, gesturing towards the dirty dishes with his chin. "Sweetheart, can you get three glasses out and join us in the living room." Bottle in hand and without another word, he walked past them and out of the kitchen.

Exchanging a startled and somewhat trepidatious look, Steve shrugged as he stepped away from the sink, dried his hands on the towel hanging on the oven door handle and followed his partner into the other room. With a soft grunt, tossing the dishcloth to the back of the sink and taking off her apron, Jeannie got three glasses out of the cupboard and, her heart pounding anxiously, joined the men in the living room.

Sitting in the recliner, Mike looked up at her and smiled. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said warmly as she put the glasses on the coffee table. He leaned forward and took the top off the scotch bottle, beginning to pour three small drinks. He glanced up at her and smiled. "Oh, ah, Steve's going to be spending the night, on the sofa here, so you don't have to worry about him drinking and driving…"

He sounded so casual that all her hackles went up. He picked up two of the glasses, handing one to her and the other to his partner, then picked up the third. As she took her place on the sofa beside Steve, he raised his glass in the air in a toast. "To my darling daughter, for serving such a wonderful dinner tonight," he said grandly, finishing with a nod and a smile in her direction before taking a sip of the Glenfiddich.

"Here here," Steve agreed with cautious enthusiasm, not really sure what was going on, before taking a sip as well.

Not really a huge fan of the throat-burning single malt, Jeannie raised the tumbler slowly in acknowledgement as she stared at her father from under a worried, furrowed brow. This was way out of character.

She glanced at Steve. He met her eyes briefly with a strained smile, and she knew that he was as far out in left field as she was right now. Inhaling deeply, she looked at her father and smiled.


	100. Chapter 100

Jeannie took a very small sip of the Glenfiddich, staring at her father over the rim of the tumbler. Mike took a healthy sip, his sparkling blue eyes glued to his daughter, cocking his head and smiling as he let the light, almost floral taste of the single malt settle on his tongue before swallowing. His eyes slid towards his partner, who was doing the same, both men appreciative of the 12-year-old scotch.

Then, still smiling, Mike got to his feet, put his glass on the coffee table and, looking from one to the other on the couch, acknowledged them both with a nod. "There's still a lot you two need to talk about," he began quietly, his suddenly warm eyes settling on Steve with a soft, encouraging smile, "and there's a lot I have to think about… so I'm going to call it an early night… and I'll see you both in the morning…" Then, with a glance at the younger man's left hand and an enigmatic wink, he turned and crossed the room. Both young people frowning, they watched in silence as he climbed the stairs without a backward glance.

Steve sat back, cradling the tumbler in his lap with both hands, exhaling loudly with a soft snort. Jeannie, who had slowly leaned forward and quietly placed her glass of scotch on the coffee table, looked at him sideways with a wry smile. "Well, we have our marching orders, don't we?"

Steve chuckled dryly, still looking down.

After a couple of silent seconds while she studied his profile, she asked tentatively, "So… was he right? Do we still have a lot to talk about?"

Staring straight ahead, his gaze unfocused, he slowly shook his head with a slight shrug. He was still trying to interpret his partner's baffling request. They had, by mutual agreement, been deliberately keeping things about the last seven weeks from Jeannie for different reasons. But now, it seemed, he had just been given unspoken consent to reverse that strategy, and he couldn't figure out why at the moment.

"I guess we do," he eventually said.

She pulled her legs up onto the sofa, curling into the corner, getting comfortable. She knew it was going to be a long night. A comfortable silence filled the room as she stared at him, realizing that she was going to have to be the one to get the ball rolling. She smiled to herself; it almost always had to be the woman, she thought. "So what was that all about?" she asked and watched as he frowned in confusion, finally looking at her.

"What was what all about?"

She snorted with a smirk. "You know exactly what I mean… he looked at your left hand. Why?"

Instinctively, almost without conscious consent, he raised his left hand and flexed it.

"Did something happen to your hand?"

He looked her sideways, knowing that the second he told her about Palm Springs and the baseball bat he was opening the floodgates for the entire two months. Was that what Mike had intended him to do? The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that that was exactly what his partner had intended.

He exhaled loudly and leaned forward, setting his tumbler on the table with a heavy thud, hoping the sound could be heard up in the master bedroom. He knew what Mike was doing, and doing deliberately; it was like throwing chum in the water and then scampering away. He was going to have to be the one to face the shark… alone.

With a low chuckle and deep sigh, he turned on the couch, sliding into the opposite corner so he could face her more directly. He smiled ironically. "This could take some time…" he began quietly and she frowned.

He chuckled to himself again and gently shook his head. "I don't even know where to begin…" he looked down, running his left hand over his face and into his hair, a habit she had grown used to seeing.

"Well, I could be facetious and say 'the beginning' but I don't know where that is…" she offered with a warm smile and a shrug.

He looked up at her and laughed. "Well, believe it or not, the beginning was when your dad… well, you know, the alley…" His voice trailed off; he didn't want to say those words again and she understood completely.

She saw him swallow heavily. Into his hesitation, she asked, "When did you find out that it was Mel?"

His eyes snapped to her sharply and he stared at her for a long beat before his features softened. "It took a few days… I was, ah, well, between visiting your Dad in the hospital I was also handling a couple of cases that we'd started before -… well, before the alley… but it had been bugging me… the cracked cap I mean. So I finally took it to my mechanic and he confirmed that it had been deliberately broken..." He looked at her and shrugged.

"Did she confess to doing it?"

"She didn't have to… I knew…" He looked down at his hands and took a deep breath.

She didn't want him to wallow, not just yet. There was so much she still needed to know; so much, it seemed, that Mike wanted her to know. "So what happened to your hand?" she prodded gently.

He looked up at her again and almost smiled. "Hunh… yeah, that…." He chuckled dryly. "So you know we went to Palm Springs, right? And your father came along… unofficially, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, we had to interview a couple of people – not suspects," he assured quickly, "just people who knew our suspects, like former classmates, that kinda thing. Well, it turned out that one of those former classmates has a… well, let's say an unorthodox but not completely unexpected lifestyle. And it turned out he doesn't particularly like talking to cops but he does like snorting coke… and his dealer just happened to be at his house when we stopped by. His, ah, female dealer."

Jeannie's hand had covered her mouth and she was staring at him through wide eyes. "And she attacked you?"

With a soft shrug, Steve nodded. "With a baseball bat. Your dad saw her before I did – she came out of a room behind me – and he yelled at me in time for me to get my arm up to protect my head." He saw her face start to scrunch up. He held up his left wrist and pointed at it. "Hit me right there, broke the bone just below my wrist." She winced with a whimper. He nodded. "Hurt like a sonuvabitch."

"You got away?" she asked breathlessly.

He nodded. "Yeah, with help from your dad. He pulled me out of the way and then tackled her."

"He what?" Her voice had risen at least an octave.

"Yep, he tackled her. Held her down until I could get it together and help him get things under control." He had decided to leave out the details, not wanting to get bogged down in minutiae or they would be sitting here all night; it had been a long seven weeks.

"And he was okay…?" She sounded skeptical.

He nodded again. "Yeah. Well, he was a little sore, of course, but… But I tell you, Jeannie, if he hadn't been there…" He shook his head and briefly closed his eyes, sobering. "That's why he gets me so mad when he says he's gotten too old to be a street cop anymore…" He opened his eyes and stared at her fiercely. "Honest to god, I don't know anybody that has his kinda street smarts, and I am not going to let him walk away without a fight…"

She met his eyes evenly for several long beats then smiled. "I know you're not…" He smiled gently and nodded; with her on his side, he knew he had more than a fighting chance. "So," she asked hesitantly, "you've had a cast for the past few weeks?"

He nodded. "Umh-humh… just got it off a few days ago."

"So how does it feel?"

He flexed his left hand again. "Fine. I almost don't remember having it on at all anymore."

"So did you get what you wanted down in Palm Springs?"

He chuckled. "Sort of… I mean, we got some good leads and other information, but that's the case that we still have open. It's a tough one. I mean, we've got our suspects in custody now but we still don't know which one did the actual murder. And they're all pretty despicable people so it's hard to work up any kind of sympathy for any of them. But like your father always says, we can't pick our victims. So that's the case we're still working on…" He shrugged.

She was staring at him with a wry smile, intrigued and slightly disturbed by all this new information, but she was also pretty sure there was more to come; after all, he'd said it had could take some time. "So you went back to work pretty fast…"

"Yeah, well, it was only my hand…"

"Yeah… so, ah, what else happened?" The question seemed casual but he knew it wasn't; she was looking at him expectantly.

He stared at her and sighed, resisting the urge to glance up towards the bedroom and silently curse his partner for putting him in this position. But Mike never did anything without a point, even if it was obscure to everyone else. He took a long deep breath, stalling for time as he decided just how much he wanted to tell her about the stake-out of Martin Bayner's house and the subsequent arrests.

"Well, we did have an interesting time over in Fremont… that involves your father and Inspector Martin…" he said matter-of-factly, finishing with a coy smile.

Jeannie's eyes widened. "Irene?" she asked, surprised, as she unfolded just enough to be able to reach the table and pick up her tumbler of scotch.

Steve did the same, taking a sip before nodding as he let the burning liquid slide down his throat. "The very same."

Curling back up, cradling her drink, Jeannie couldn't take her eyes off him as he explained all about Mike's brilliant Jehovah's Witness plan and its implementation. Within seconds, he had her in stitches.

# # # # #

The sound of their laughter wafted up the stairs and under the closed door of the master bedroom. Mike, who had changed into his pajamas and performed his nightly ablutions, was lying in bed with the lights out, staring into the dark and trying to sort out the rest of his life.

He smiled at the sound. Steve hadn't been laughing often enough these past few weeks, he knew, and the sound of his daughter's joy was always a balm to his soul, especially in troubled times.

And this, he had to admit to himself, was one of those troubled times, though he was coming to realize that just possibly some of the trouble he had brought on himself.

He drew in a deep breath and held it, finally releasing it in a rush and closing his eyes. _Where had the years gone_, he thought. It felt like only yesterday when he'd made lieutenant and been transferred to Homicide, a place both in his heart and mind had rapidly become home.

It was all he'd ever wanted to do, he thought, since those uncertain days after the war when, still coming to grips with the stark reality that his older brother wasn't coming home, he was suddenly the only son of a bitter, grieving father. The police department had become a sanctuary… and then a home, until he found the woman of his dreams and started his own family.

He could feel the tears welling up under his closed lids. He'd had his fair share of grief in his life… his brother, his parents, his wife… But he'd always managed to pick up the pieces and carry on. _Why can't I this time?,_ he wondered.

He heard another laugh from downstairs and he smiled again.

He thought back over the evening and the somewhat strained but undeniably necessary conversation that had just taken place… and the three words that kept repeating over and over in his mind, three words that had stung more than anything else that had been uttered lately. _'What about me?'_

He sighed heavily, knowing he didn't have an answer to those three words yet but, if he was lucky, maybe he would by the morning.


	101. Chapter 101

"For the third time, Jeannie, he was fine, believe me, I checked and double checked and even made sure they gave him a thorough once over at the hospital. The car was in much worse shape than he was, believe me. We still haven't got it back from the body shop yet."

Her raised eyebrows had started to come down and she shook her head in shock and borderline anger. "Good lord, he's got a lot of explaining to do in the morning… If he thinks he can get away with not telling me things like this…" She continued to shake her head and he could feel her mounting fury.

He reached forward quickly, picked up what was left of her tumbler of scotch and thrust it at her with a, "Here. For god's sake drink this before you have a hemorrhage." He stared at her bemusedly, holding the glass right in front of her face so she had to look around it.

Her eyebrows knitting and her face growing dark, she glared at him for a long second before a small squeal escaped from her pursed lips and she started to laugh. She took the tumbler from his hand and held it up in a toast before taking a sip.

With a chuckle, he picked up his own glass and took a drink then, continuing to laugh and glancing at her, picked up the bottle, pouring more into his glass and then offering her a refresh. She frowned at the tumbler in her hand then shrugged and held it out, laughing softly. Shaking his head and grinning, he poured her a splash more then set the bottle back down on the coffee table.

"I'm starting to like this," she giggled after she took a sip.

"Good," he laughed as he sat back again, cradling his own glass in his lap. His smile disappeared. "Listen, Jeannie, don't be so hard on Mike tomorrow… he had his reasons for not telling you."

"What, you mean that bull about not wanting me to come home and miss out on that 'great opportunity' down in San Diego?" The anger and frustration was back in her voice and he frowned at her.

"That's what he told you?"

"Yeah," she replied snarkily, and he realized the alcohol was slowly lowering her innate inhibitions. He snorted softly to himself; no doubt it was doing the same to him.

"Oh my god," he said suddenly into the air, and dropped his head back onto the couch with an ironic chortle.

"What?" she snapped, still in the throes of her funk.

Without lifting his head from the back of the sofa, he swiveled to look at her. "You haven't figured it out?"

"Figured what out?" He could tell she was rapidly losing what precious little patience she had left.

Steve gestured at the bottle and glasses. "He did this on purpose…" She continued to stare at him blankly. "This… you, me, the scotch… he did this on purpose…" He shook his head with a dry chuckle, an impressed smile curling his lips

"Okay…?" she dragged out the one word uncertainly, "so… why…?"

"So you could let your anger out… on me first, before him…" he chuckled and her frown deepened, "and so I could work through my… my guilt," he admitted quietly, looking down and shrugging.

Her anger dissipating, she stared at his downturned head for several seconds, wrapping both hands around the thick, heavy glass in her hand as if needing its solid reality. "You have nothing to be guilty about, you should know that by now," she said softly, knowing she was just repeating what he had been told over and over but not knowing what else to say.

He smiled slightly, bobbing his eyebrows quickly. "I know that's what everybody keeps telling me… your father more than anybody… But it's not something that anyone else can take away… It's something that has to come from within. You know what I mean?" He looked up at her.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

Steve took a long deep breath; he tried to swallow but there was a catch in his throat and gasped slightly. His eyes brightened and he tightened his grip on the tumbler in his hand. "I thought she was the one, Jeannie… I really thought she was the girl I was going to marry…"

The back of her throat constricted and she bit her bottom lip. Hoping she could keep her voice from trembling, she whispered, "I know…"

He sighed loudly. "But I can't love someone I can't trust… and I can't trust her anymore and I don't think I ever can again… Does that make any sense to you?"

She smiled softly. "Of course it does. Nobody can really love someone they don't trust… "

He sat perfectly still, staring at nothing for several long seconds while she watched him, allowing the silence to lengthen. "How could I have been so wrong about her…?" he asked finally, so softly she almost didn't hear him, not sure if the question was rhetorical or directed at her.

She looked down, shaking her head almost imperceptibly, feeling his head come up and his eyes on her. She looked up and smiled warmly. "I have a feeling most of us really don't know what's going on in someone else's mind… even those we're the closest to…" she shrugged sadly.

He stared at her for a long beat then lowered his eyes and nodded slowly. "I sure don't know what's going on in your father's mind right now, I really don't…" He sighed sadly. "Jeannie, I just don't know what to say to him anymore to make him change his mind… I wish I did…"

She took a deep breath. "Well, I don't think either of us can say anything else to him right now… One way or the other, the decision is his and there's nothing we can do about it… But if I know my father as well as I think I do… and I think I know him pretty well," she chuckled knowingly, "he's already made his mind up and he's just waiting for the right time to tell us…"

He frowned at her. "You think?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah… he does have a flair for the dramatic."

They both laughed. "Yes, he does," Steve agreed, shaking his head.

As his smile slowly disappeared she said forcefully, "If you think you've lost my dad's trust because of what happened in that alley, then you're sadly mistaken, I'm afraid… He loves you so much and he trusts you with his life and he always will. You don't ever have to worry about that."

Steve didn't move for a long time then he nodded slowly. "You know, I've been trying to figure out why he disappeared tonight and left me here holding the bag… so to speak," he added quickly when she frowned sharply, not sure she liked the analogy. He smiled an apology and she growled good-naturedly in acceptance. "He's a cunning bastard, your father… He wanted _me _to tell you everything because he hates keeping anything from you… but I think he was scared to," he snorted with a smile.

"As well he should be," she emphasized with a sharp nod followed by a quick grin.

Steve stared at her for a beat. "He really is okay, Jeannie, I've made sure of that. Physically, I mean… Now I just have to hope he realizes he's not done yet, not by a long shot…"

"Well," she began slowly and softly, "it's out of our hands, isn't it?"

He nodded with a heavy sigh then lifted his glass and took another sip. She did the same. They sat in a companionable silence for several long seconds then her head came up quickly. "Hey, okay, total change of topic," she began excitedly, "but I picked up this album down in San Diego a few days ago and I love it and I haven't had a chance to really hear it all yet. You want to listen to it?"

Steve, who was staring at her in surprise, glanced at his watch, frowned slightly then shrugged. "Sure, why not? We're not going anywhere till tomorrow night, right?"

"Great, I'll go get it," she said quickly, handing him her glass as she shot to her feet and bolted up the stairs to her bedroom. Chuckling, he put both glasses on the coffee table and sat back, smiling. It was turning out to be a much more interesting night than he'd anticipated.

# # # # #

It was the thudding of the bass that woke him. He opened his eyes onto the pitch-black room, a relentless boom-boom-boom coming from somewhere in the house. He laid there for what felt like forever, waiting and hoping that the nuisance would go away but it didn't. If anything it got louder.

With a growl, he threw the light sheet to the side and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He could see a yellow glow under the closed door; it looked like every light on the first floor was blazing.

He glanced at the clock/radio. 4:15. "You've gotta be kidding…" he muttered under his breath as he pushed himself up and headed for the door, finding the knob with no problem in the dark. Without even bothering to don his bathrobe, he yanked the door open and stomped out into the hallway.

The music was pulsing up from the living room. He wasn't sure but it sort of sounded like an orchestra fronted by a singer with a startlingly deep voice and accompanied by the sound of familiar laughter.

He hesitated at the top of the stairs then slowly and quietly descended until, sitting, he could see into the living room. The coffee table had been pushed against the couch and in the centre of the room Jeannie and Steve were dancing along to the infectious music, smiling and laughing and taking no immediate notice of the new arrival.

It was Jeannie who saw him first, sitting quietly on the stairs, grinning at them. She started, her hand darting to her mouth then starting to laugh. Steve froze mid-motion and turned suddenly, looking stunned and guilty.

"Oh… Daddy, sorry!" Jeannie gasped, trying not to laugh as she crossed to the foot of the stairs and looked up at him with an apologetic smile. "Sorry… it's a new album…" She glanced at Steve, as if that explained it. "I wanted Steve to hear it… sorry…"

Steve had moved to the turntable and turned the volume down. Mike's head snapped towards him and he tensed.

"Don't do that," Mike said quickly, "leave it." He looked back at his daughter as his partner's hand froze on the knob and the younger man frowned. "I like that," he said with a nod, "it's a lot nicer than most of the so-called _music_ you bring into this house."

Jeannie's face had lit up. "Yeah, uh, isn't it?" She crossed quickly to the coffee table to pick up the album cover then charged up the stairs to sit beside her father, handing it to him. "He's got an amazing voice, doesn't he?"

Mike looked at the cover with it's close-up photo of a large black man sitting in a chair, wearing a blue shirt and staring at the camera; the name Barry White in large white letters was written on the bottom right corner. "'Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe'", he read softly as she giggled and wrapped her hands around his upper arm, leaning into him. Smiling, he looked at her. "I'd, ah, I'd like to hear the whole album," he said pleasantly, "… but not tonight."

She stared at him blankly, the meaning of his words taking a couple of seconds to seep into her scotch-altered brain. "Oh! Oh, ah, right, right…" She glanced at Steve, who was still standing near the turntable. "Ah, we'll, ah, we'll call it a night… okay?"

Steve looked at Mike with a wan smile and nodded. "Ah, okay, of course…"

Smiling benevolently, Mike handed the album cover back to his daughter and started to get to his feet. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You might want to get a couple of pillows and a blanket for the boy wonder there," he said to her with a chuckle as he turned and started back to his room.

Frowning, she watched till he closed the bedroom door then looked at Steve, who still hadn't moved. "_Boy wonder_…?" he mouthed to her, his brow furrowed, shaking his head in confusion. "He hasn't called me that in years…"

She shrugged, shaking her head and getting to her feet. She climbed the stairs.

Still frowning, Steve took the needle off the album and turned the record player off. He was pulling the coffee table away from the couch when Jeannie returned with two pillows and a light blanket. She handed them to him without a word, crossed to the record player to put the album cover down beside it then, with a frowning backward glance, returned to the stairs and started slowly up.

# # # # #

He felt a hand on his upper arm and he was being jostled vigorously. "Wake up, sleepyhead," he heard the familiar voice. "Steve, wake up!"

Sighing, Mike shook his partner's arm again. "Hey, there's a phone call for you…"

The voice was getting more urgent he could tell and he reluctantly opened one eye. He could feel last night's scotch pounding in his skull. He moaned.

"Bill needs to talk to you…" Mike insisted. "He says it's something about a dried pool of blood in a warehouse… Does that mean anything to you?"

Steve's bloodshot eyes snapped open.


	102. Chapter 102

"Yeah… yeah, okay, Bill, I'll get there as soon as I can… thanks…" Steve dropped the receiver onto the cradle, trying to rub the stupor out of his eyes with the heel of his other hand. He heard a low thud and looked up to see Mike straightening up after having set a cup on the coffee table in front of him.

The older man was shaved, dressed and grinning. "Good news?" he asked casually.

Shaking his head as if trying to clear it, Steve blinked exaggeratedly several times and attempted a nod, wincing at the effort. "Ah, yeah, uh, a couple of patrol cops stumbled across a large blood stain in a warehouse in India Basin… might be tied to the Goodman case…" He stared at the coffee table, frowning.

Mike nodded, still smiling. "Good." He held out a bottle of aspirin, shook it, then pointed at the steaming cup of coffee. He snapped the cap off the bottle, motioned for Steve to hold his hand out and tapped two pills onto his palm. "Take those, drink that, freshen up and I'll drive you where you need to go."

Starting to shake his head, Steve protested, "No, Mike, its okay, I can –"

"You can't drive, you're still… you know…" Trying to suppress a grin, he mimed drinking from a bottle. "Anyway, I've got nothing to do this morning so I can be your chauffeur…" Watching the younger man's eyes widening, he continued quickly, "That's all, I promise… I won't get involved, I swear." He had thrown his hands up in mock surrender.

Frowning, Steve nodded carefully, popping the two pills into his mouth and picking up the cup.

# # # # #

Mike looked across the front seat and smiled. Steve's head was back against the seat, his eyes closed behind the dark glasses. Swallowing a chuckle, he asked, "Feeling any better?"

There was a low moan from the younger man's direction but he didn't move his head.

"Well, we're gonna be there in about five minutes so you better start pulling yourself together or you're going to have _some 'splaining to do…_" he chuckled in his best Desi Arnaz accent.

The dark glasses turned in his direction; the face below them obviously didn't find anything amusing in his comment. Biting his lips and trying not to laugh, Mike stared through the windshield and cleared his throat theatrically. He could feel the eyes behind the dark glasses boring into him and he glanced over again. "What?"

"Why am I the one that has to do the _'splaining_…? I mean, if you remember correctly, you were the one that left Jeannie and I alone with that bottle of scotch, telling us we had a lot to talk about…" He stopped talking but continued to stare.

Mike glanced over again. "So…?"

"So, if I was you, I wouldn't be considering myself totally blameless…"

Still looking through the windshield, Mike frowned with a shrug. "True… but everybody here is just going to see you with your bloodshot eyes and… hung-over demeanor," he smothered another chuckle, "and then they'll look at me… and I'm fine." He looked across the seat again and grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

Steve moaned and let his head rock back to neutral. He chuckled dryly. "If I didn't know better, I think you did it on purpose…"

Mike laughed. "Yeah, right… I have a crystal ball hidden away in my bedroom closet… That's how I knew Bill was gonna call this morning with a lead…"

Steve joined in the gentle laughter as the car turned onto Cargo Way; they could see a black-and-white up ahead on the right at the curb in front of a large grey warehouse. Mike pulled the moss green Galaxie around the cruiser into a small open area and next to a tan Galaxie parked close to the open warehouse door. With a groan, taking off his sunglasses and stuffing them in his shirt pocket, Steve opened the door and started to get out. Mike turned the engine off but didn't move.

Half out, the younger man looked back. "You're not coming in?"

Mike shrugged. "It's your case. I'm still on sick leave, remember?"

Bestowing with older man with his best smirk, Steve growled, "Since when has that stopped you before?"

Smirking back, Mike held the demanding gaze for a long second then raised his eyebrows; he knew what his partner was trying to do. "All right," he growled, drawing out the two words with a feigned moan as he reached for the door handle. He sighed heavily, trying to sound annoyed but not quite succeeding.

Grinning broadly, Steve chuckled as they both got out and started towards the warehouse door.

# # # # #

"Hey, I didn't think you were coming," Tanner said with a grin as he spotted Mike trailing behind Steve as the pair crossed the almost empty warehouse to where he was standing with a uniformed patrolman.

Trying to hide his smile, Mike, looking unusually casual in a polo shirt under a light windbreaker, baseball cap and sneakers, nodded at the black inspector with a subtle tilt of his head towards his companion.

Tanner glanced at Steve and froze momentarily, his eyes widening as he quickly took in the glassy eyes, pasty pallor and dark stubble. He looked back at Mike who rolled his eyes and bobbled his head slightly with a slight smile.

His eyes on the large dark stain on the cement floor, Steve hadn't noticed the exchange. He crouched to get a closer look. "So who found this?" He looked up at Tanner.

Suddenly all business, the inspector took a step closer. "A couple of our guys were chasing a car thief and he drove around the back of the warehouse here and got stuck in a dead end and when he bailed, he got in here through a back door. They gave chase and finally nailed him after they turned the lights on," he chuckled at the ludicrousness of the felon's stupidity, "and as they were handcuffing him, one of them spotted this. He, ah, he remembered reading your BOLO."

Nodding as he stared at the stain, Steve got to his feet. "Good man. So what's happened since then?"

"Well, one of the guys from the lab is on his way here. I've already talked to Charlie and told him what we have. He thinks we may be able to get a blood type, which'll be better than nothing, right? I mean, we already have Goodman's blood type so that'll rule this out quickly one way or the other."

Steve nodded again. "Well, there's certainly enough here that it would be fatal, I would think…" Almost instinctively, he looked over his shoulder at his partner, as if seeking confirmation.

Mike, who had been staring at him silently, his hands in his pocket, started slightly, not expecting the acknowledgement. He smiled gently to himself as he felt the thrill of the chase shoot through his veins again and he swallowed self-consciously before pursing his lips and nodding. "Yeah, looks like that to me…" he confirmed, looking down at the stain.

Steve glanced at Tanner. "Do you know who owns this building yet?" he asked, looking around at the seemingly abandoned structure filled with what looked like large machinery covered with dust-laden tarpaulins.

"Not yet," Tanner answered, "Lee is starting to make calls but it's still early and a lot of places aren't open yet. It's gonna take time, I think."

"Yeah," Steve said quietly, looking down, his brow furrowed, obviously thinking. "Okay, ah, look, you and Lee gotta get back to work on that floater, right…?" Tanner nodded. "Give me a couple of hours to go home and get cleaned up and get into the office and I'll take over from Lee and try to track down the owners. How does that sound?"

Tanner shrugged with a smile. "That sounds good to me. I'll hang around here until the lab guy gets here…" he glanced at his watch, "it shouldn't be long, and then I'll head back to the office myself."

Nodding, Steve stared at the stain again then started to slowly turn away. Tanner glanced at Mike and raised his eyebrows as if asking the older man if he was coming back to work. Reading his mind, Mike shook his head slightly, smiling gently, and fell into step beside his partner as they started back to the warehouse entrance.

"Listen, I'll, ah, I'll drive you home and wait for you then take you to the office," he said nonchalantly, "then I'll grab a cab home."

"No, don't do that," Steve said quickly as he followed Mike through the door and they stepped out into the increasingly overcast morning sky, "we'll go back to your place and I'll drop you off and take the car home."

Mike chuckled lowly. "Are you kidding…? I'm not letting you drive yet. You've still got all that Glenfiddich coursing through your veins, whether you realize it or not. I'll drive, then after a few hours in the office you should be okay. No argument." They had reached the car and Mike looked over the roof as he stood at the driver's side door. Any trace of a smile was gone and Steve knew he was deadly serious.

They stared at each other for a long beat then Steve nodded and opened the passenger side door.

# # # # #

Mike was sitting on the sofa, reading a Time magazine, when a freshly shaved and showered Inspector Steve Keller, wearing clean clothes and a somewhat brighter disposition, came down the stairs. His jacket was over one arm and he was doing up his cuff buttons.

"Sorry it took so long… you know…" He gestured vaguely but Mike knew what he meant and the older man grinned.

"Don't worry about it, I kept myself busy," he replied, smiling enigmatically, and Steve frowned. He always worried when Mike managed to 'make himself busy'. He crossed the living room to the kitchen entrance and glanced in then turned back accusingly. "You did my dishes…"

Mike nodded, continuing to grin. "Well, somebody had to… and I had the time so…" He shrugged.

Steve's eyes narrowed. "What else did you do?"

The older man threw his hands up. "That's it, I swear." He chuckled. "Well, you did have a lot of dirty dishes…"

"I've been busy…" came the defensive reply.

"I know you have," Mike responded brightly, "that wasn't a condemnation, just a simple fact."

Steve stared at him warily for a long second then nodded uncertainly. "Okay, well, ah, I'm ready to go."

"Great," Mike barked, tossing the Time on the coffee table, getting to his feet and crossing to the door with his characteristic enthusiasm. It was something Steve hadn't seen in a while and he watched him without moving.

Mike turned back at the door, noting the younger man's thoughtful stare. "What?"

Smiling slightly, Steve shook his head. "Ah, nothing…" he replied pleasantly, starting to follow. As he closed the door behind them, the small, hopeful smile lingered, and tiny flame of hope ignited.

# # # # #

Mike paid the cab driver and slid out of the back seat, slamming the door before starting up the steep concrete steps to his front door. He opened it quietly, knowing his daughter would no doubt still be asleep, as would Steve if it hadn't been for Tanner's call.

He glanced up at the cloudy sky as he closed the door. If this kept up, chances are the ballgame would be rained out tonight, he thought sourly.

He took off the windbreaker and hung it up, then strode into the kitchen. He filled the percolator, plugged it in then crossed to the wall phone and picked up the receiver. He dialed a number he didn't need to look up.

It was answered on its second ring. "Yeah, Rudy, it's Mike… Yeah, ah, good morning to you too… Yeah, listen, ah, there's something I want to talk to you about…"


	103. Chapter 103

The bedroom door opened and she stepped out into the hallway slowly and cautiously. Her head pounded with every step she took so she slowed her pace even more. She needed to get downstairs, to the coffee that her father no doubt had standing by and the ever-present bottle of aspirin.

But as she slowly took one step at a time on her way down to the first floor, the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed java was not wafting up her nostrils, and the house seemed unusually quiet.

Frowning, she stepped onto the hardwood floor, staring at the empty couch. Steve should still be there, she thought to herself as she started slowly toward the dark kitchen. She stood in the entrance and surveyed the neat and tidy room. The percolator was sitting, unplugged, on the counter. There was a cup, spoon and bowl of sugar beside it, and a note.

Blinking slowly, clutching her robe around her as she tried to stop the pounding in her head, she crossed to the counter and picked up the note.

'_Good morning, sweetheart. I had to go out. Steve had gone to work. Percolator is ready to go. See you later, M. P.S. game might be rained out tonight so we'll make other plans. Maybe dinner out?'_

She looked around the kitchen again, her frown deepening. 'Steve went to work…?' Shaking her head, she picked up the cord and plugged the coffeemaker in. 'You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din…' she chuckled to herself, one of her father's favourite phrases running through her mind.

# # # # #

Steve picked the phone up on its second ring. "Homicide, Keller."

"How's your head?"

"Is that your new salutation?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Well, only when necessary," came the laughing reply.

"Well, just so you know, it's a lot better, thank you. The five cups of coffee have helped."

"Good. So, ah, any news on that bloodstain?" Mike seemed to be having a hard time keeping the curiosity out of his voice, and the younger man's heart skipped a beat.

"Ah, no, not yet. The lab guy got the sample and Charlie's running it right now. And I've had no luck yet trying to track down the owner of the warehouse. I've got a lot of calls in, though, so just waiting for someone to call me back with some solid information I can use."

"Okay, that's good. Listen, ah, there's a chance the game's gonna be rained out tonight so I was thinking, you want to go out to dinner with Jeannie and me?"

"Ah, sure, yeah, sounds great. I'll give you a call later and let you know when I think I'll get outa here."

"Good. Talk to you later." Mike's end of the line went dead.

Steve stared at the receiver as he slowly hung it up. A slight, encouraging smile played over his lips. He hadn't heard that much enthusiasm from his partner in a long time. And he knew something was up.

# # # # #

The rain had begun in earnest around 2 pm so Mike called to tell Jeannie he would pick her up in time to meet Steve at the Tadich Grill at 6. Still struggling to recover from the night's overindulgence, curled up on the sofa with her third large cup of coffee, she was trying to stay focused. "Where are you?" she asked dully and heard him chuckle knowingly over the line. He had been where she was now, a long time ago.

"Oh, ah, just getting a few things done. Don't worry, I'll be home in plenty of time to change into something appropriate for dinner. I'll see you around 5," he said with a smile in his voice as he hung up.

She stared into space as she put the receiver on the cradle; her father sounded positively giddy.

# # # # #

Jeannie was not her usual effervescent self; it was her first scotch hangover and she had not had a banner day. Now, in the crowded and fairly loud dining room of the Tadich Grill, she could only watch in envy as her father and his partner discussed the minutiae of the case the latter was still working on.

She had zoned out long ago, working her way through the revered restaurant's signature Filet Mignon with Shoestring Potatoes, still stunned that her father had told them he was picking up the check tonight. His largesse was appreciated, if not somewhat startlingly out of character. But in the past day and a half, she'd noticed a change in him… and one definitely for the better. She had a pretty good idea what it was, but she wanted to let him have the privilege of telling them himself whenever he deemed the time was right.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, she stared at the handsome young man sitting on her right, the stranger Mike had brought home four years ago, introducing him as his new partner, and who had quickly become not only her father's best friend but the older brother she didn't have. How different all their lives would have been had that serendipitous event had never happened; who knows what direction their lives would have taken.

Her stare slid slowly to her father, his face alight as he engaged his partner in their spirited conversation, and she smiled to herself, thrilled that she could see the fire back in his eyes. She knew Steve could see it too; he knew her father as well, if not better, than she did now.

She looked down at her plate, the soft smile staying on her lips. It had always amazed her that her father could relay his love so easily through his eyes and his smile, just like he was doing right now.

She cut another small piece of the filet, snippets of their conversation starting to filter through the haze that still surrounded her. They were both animated now, and she could tell from Steve's tone that he was elated to have his partner back, even if it was only temporarily. Unexpected tears came to her eyes and she blinked them away quickly.

# # # # #

"Where are you parked?" Steve asked as they stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, glancing up and down California as if looking for the dark blue sedan. The rain had stopped but the sky was still overcast and the temperature had dropped considerably.

Mike gestured vaguely to his right. "Over on Sacramento. You?"

"Pine. Listen, ah, thanks for dinner again, that was amazing… and exactly what I needed," the younger man chuckled, glancing at Jeannie, both of them nodding knowingly, and Mike laughed.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that… and I sorta thought I needed to compensate for last night…" He glanced at his daughter, who was still looking a little wobbly. "Well, I better get her home." He looked at his partner and smiled. "So, ah, let me know what happens tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah. I'll, ah, I'll follow up on that angle we talked about." There was a sudden catch in his voice, as if he suddenly realized Mike wasn't going to be with him in the office the next day. "I'll call you," he smiled, covering.

Mike nodded back, his smile slipping slightly. "Yeah… yeah, do that." He looked at Jeannie. "Sweetheart…?" he asked softly, holding out his elbow for her to take.

She smiled up at him and then at the younger man. "Goodnight, Steve. See you soon, I hope," she smiled warmly as she took her father's arm.

"You bet, Jeannie," Steve nodded with a smile as Mike started to lead her away down the sidewalk into the crisp night air.

Watching them go, the younger cop sighed heavily. When they turned the corner and disappeared from his sight, he dropped his head, turning to tread slowly towards his car.

# # # # #

"Hi, Jeannie. Checking in like your Dad asked me to," Steve chuckled over the phone.

She snorted. "Well, I'd like to accommodate you but I don't know where he is. He took off a couple of hours ago and he didn't tell me where he was going or how long he was going for… so I have no idea where he is."

"Oh… okay, well, tell him I called, okay? I'll, ah, I'll try again later."

"Okay. Hey, look, um, I'm kinda stuck here without a car today but I want to go down to the wharf first thing tomorrow morning and get us a nice big Chinook. You think you'll be able to come for dinner tomorrow night?"

"For Chinook? You better believe it!" the younger man laughed. "I can't remember the last time I had salmon."

Jeannie chuckled wryly. "Me neither… I'm going to be going through all my cookbooks with a fine-toothed comb to find just the right recipe so I don't ruin it."

"You could never ruin it, Jeannie, you're too good a cook," he assured rapidly.

"Why thank you, kind sir," she giggled. "Listen, I'll tell Mike you called whenever he decides to come home and maybe he'll call you back. How's that?"

"Great, thanks. Okay, well, if I don't talk to you before then, I'll see you tomorrow night."

"You got it." She hung up and stared at the phone. She had a pretty good idea where her father had disappeared to but she didn't want to jinx it, and him, by giving it voice. Smiling to herself, she opened an upper cupboard door and began to transfer all the dog-eared cookbooks to the kitchen table.

# # # # #

Mike took the stairs up to the front door two at a time; he hadn't done that in a long time and though he was a little out of breath, he chuckled to himself as he opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Loud music assaulted his ears as he closed the door, glancing at the turntable on the other side of the room with a big smile. He recognized it as the album Jeannie was playing two nights ago… at 4 in the morning.

He could see and hear her puttering around in the kitchen; she obvious didn't hear him. Quietly, he snuck up behind her then grabbed her in a bear hug. She squealed in shock and alarm before sagging into his arms and laughing. Chuckling warmly, he squeezed her tightly then let her go; she spun towards him with a pretend scowl and slapped at his hands as he stepped back quickly, trying to dodge her.

"You scared the life out of me!" she growled playfully.

"Well, that was my intention," he chuckled, trying to reach for her again but she ducked, shaking her head and returning to the stove and opening the oven door. "What are you cooking?" he asked, taking a step closer.

"Lasagna. I just put it in so it won't be ready for another 45 minutes or so." She shut the oven door and looked at him. "I wasn't sure when, or if, you were coming home… where were you?"

He raised his eyebrows innocently. "Oh, ah, I had some things to do," he answered vaguely. "Ah, I'm gonna to go up and take a quick shower." He turned sharply and headed towards the stairs. She followed him to the kitchen entrance and watched as he jogged up the stairs, the renewed vigor in his step making her smile.

# # # # #

"Ohhh, that really hit the spot, thank you," Mike sighed as he dropped his napkin on the table and sat back, patting his stomach. "That was delicious…"

Jeannie smiled and bowed her head. "Thank you, kind sir. It did turn out pretty good, didn't it?"

"Pretty good? It was magnificent," her father laughed proudly. "And we have leftovers for tomorrow."

"Oh, ah, about that… I told Steve I was going to go down to the Wharf tomorrow morning and get a Chinook for dinner tomorrow night… and I invited him. Is that okay?"

"You're going to get a Chinook?" Mike asked, his smile disappearing as he stared at her, eyes wide.

Suddenly unsure, she nodded hesitantly. "Ah, yeah…"

"You know how much those cost?" he asked, sounding worried.

"Ah, yeah… but I thought… maybe… a special occasion…?" She shrugged slightly.

"What special occasion?" he asked, frowning.

"I don't know…" she stammered, "I just thought…. Well, I'm gonna be heading back to Arizona soon…?"

His frown started to fade. "Oh… okay… well, yeah, okay, I can understand that…"

"So…?" she started slowly. "So I can go get one tomorrow morning…?"

He looked at her silently for a couple of seconds before saying casually, "Well, if you do it first thing in the morning, when the boats get in… because I'm gonna need you to drive me somewhere right after that… okay?"

"Drive you somewhere…?" She frowned at him. "Where?"

"Oh, ah, not far," he said evasively, getting up quickly, picking up his plate and crossing to the sink. "You can just drop me off and come straight home."

She watched him as he slowly and deliberately turned on the tap to run water over the dirty plate, knowing he was avoiding her stare. She sat back with a soft chuckle; she knew what he was up to, and she smiled warmly to herself.


	104. Chapter 104

She hadn't been down to the docks at this hour since before her mother had gotten sick, over five years ago. A couple of times a year, she and her mom would make the pilgrimage in the early dawn hours to greet the boats returning from their night's work, and buy the freshly caught fish the entire Stone family loved. Mike never had the time and a wonderful family tradition had become just a memory. She planned to bring it back.

She had brought the old cooler she'd dug up from the basement, bought some fresh ice near Pier 47 and was waiting when the trawler tied up and the catch off-loaded. She picked the Chinook she liked and it was skinned, gutted and deboned right before her eyes. After paying the man, she lugged the heavy cooler to the car and was on the road back to Potrero before the sun came up.

Her father was in the bathroom shaving when she got home, so she made the return trip to the car with a large plastic bag and a towel. She had no desire to lug such a heavy load up the many steps to the house, so she made two trips, one with the fish, the other with the empty cooler after dumping the ice on the nearest manhole cover to melt in the morning sun.

She was putting the large salmon fillets into the fridge when he father appeared in the kitchen doorway. "The coffee's almost ready," she said loudly, her head still in the fridge before straightening up and closing the door. She froze, her eyes widening. A coat and tie over one arm, he was wearing a dress shirt, vest, suit pants and a goofy grin. "Oh my god…" she breathed then smiled, her lower lip trembling.

He was staring at her almost embarrassedly, chuckling softly.

"So that's what you've been up to the past couple of days…" Her voice was part accusatory, part wonder and she shook her head happily. "You've been busy…"

"I was," he shrugged cheekily, grinning.

She bit her bottom lip, her eyes brightening. "You sure you're up to going back?"

He nodded. "Umh-humh. That's what the department doc says and I believe him."

She smiled, relieved, then frowned. "But don't you have to re-qualify and all that?"

"Yep, did that too. Yesterday."

"So fast? I didn't think they'd –"

"I had Rudy grease some wheels for me… " he shrugged again with a dry chuckle. "The entire process was expedited. The whole department's still understaffed and they were chomping at the bit to get me back, so…" He grinned.

"Does Steve know?" she asked, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

His smile disappeared. "Ah, no, not yet… at least I don't think so," he shrugged. "I kinda want it to be a surprise…"

"Oh, I think it'll be that. He'll be thrilled."

"I hope so…" he said quietly. He set the jacket and tie on the back of his chair then crossed to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee. "I hope he doesn't think I'm only going back to take the Goodman case away from him…"

She had opened the fridge again to take the eggs out, wanting to make him a hearty breakfast before he headed out on such an auspicious day. She froze halfway to the stove, carton in hand. "Why in the world would you think that?" she asked.

He shrugged and chuckled. "I don't know, I just…"

"Mike, he's going to love having you back, you know that." She put the eggs on the counter and stepped closer to him, wrapping both hands around his upper arm and leaning into him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Why are you so worried?"

He shrugged again. "I know he felt guilty for what happened, even though he never should've… it wasn't his fault… and I'm pretty sure he thinks he's lost my trust…"

She wanted to interrupt him to protest but knew her father well enough to hold her tongue.

He sighed loudly and she felt him almost sag with despair. "I don't know what to do to make him know he could never do that… ever…" He chuckled gently. "So, I thought, maybe by going back to work I can prove to him that he's never lost my trust and he never will…"

She smiled and squeezed his arm.

"Anyway," he laughed gently, "I don't think I could sit around the house all day trying to think of ways to keep busy. I'd go crazy… and I don't think you'd like me very much anymore…"

She pulled back and looked up at him, frowning as she pretended to contemplate what he had just admitted. She nodded once, sharply. "I think you're absolutely right."

He raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. "Oh, I am, am I?"

She nodded, continuing to frown. "Umh-humh."

"Well, then I better get back to work. And so should you." He glanced pointedly at the carton on the counter. "Those eggs aren't going to scramble themselves, you know…"

Her frown turned into a smirk. She squeezed his arm hard then released him with a growl, pushing him away slightly. Both of them laughing warmly, she opened the egg carton while he poured himself a cup of coffee.

# # # # #

Steve took a sip of the rapidly cooling coffee in the cardboard cup as he let the Homicide office door close behind him. He glanced around the bullpen as he crossed to his desk; Sergeant Sekulovich was going through folders at one of the file cabinets in the corner and Inspector Grabowski was on the phone at his desk against the far wall. He glanced towards the inner office; the door was closed, its occupant sitting at the desk, bent over a file, rapidly making notes.

He stopped at his desk and was putting the coffee cup down, looking at the small pink telephone messages tucked under the phone, when he froze. He raised his head slowly and turned to look into the small office again. A smile gently building, he crossed slowly to the glass-paneled door and opened it quietly.

Mike raised his head and grinned, looking at his partner overtop of the black-rimmed reading glasses. "Well, good morning," he greeted casually.

Still smiling, Steve took a step into the room, his eyes narrowing as his head tilted slightly. He pointed vaguely towards the desk. "Does, ah, does this mean you're back…?" he asked tentatively, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

Still grinning, Mike nodded. "Ah, yeah… I'm back." He chuckled and shrugged.

Taking another step closer to the desk, the younger man frowned. "You, ah, you didn't think that, you know, maybe you… I mean, you didn't say a_nything_ about coming back last night…?" He seemed almost at a loss for words.

Mike sat back, tossing the pen on the desk, and grimaced slightly. "Sorry… I, ah, well, I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. I didn't tell anybody, not even Jeannie. Well, until this morning… I couldn't really sneak out of the house dressed like this without her suspecting something…" He laughed then sobered. "Are you mad?"

"Mad?" Steve almost spat out, smiling. "Are you kidding? I'm thrilled." He dropped into the guest chair, staring at his partner with such naked relief on his face that Mike chuckled and looked down self-consciously, picking up the pen again. "How, ah, how did you get all this done so fast?"

Mike looked up. "You mean my coming back?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, ah, well, Rudy helped. I made up my mind a couple of days ago and Rudy arranged for me to see the department doctor right away for a physical, which I passed with flying colors, by the way," he said pointedly, with a nod and a smile.

"Your ribs are okay?" Steve was frowning, remembering he had been told it could take as long as three months for the older man to make a complete recovery.

"One hundred percent, I swear," Mike chuckled. "I wouldn't be here if they weren't, believe me. So, after that, I just had to re-qualify, and I did that yesterday. So..." He shrugged again with a Cheshire cat smile.

"You didn't have to talk to Lenny?"

Mike shook his head. "Nope. If I'da been the one that did the shooting, well, that'd been another story, but I didn't have to go see him if I didn't want to… and I don't… not right now anyway…"

They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, both of them smiling, then Mike chuckled and slapped the desk with his left hand. "So, enough of that," he said loudly then gestured towards the outer office with his chin, "grab your coffee and get your butt in here and we'll go over everything we still need to do on the Goodman case. How does that sound?"

Grinning, Steve got to his feet. "Yes, sir," he laughed as he crossed quickly to his desk, shrugging off his jacket and dropping it on the back of his chair then picking up the phone messages and the files on his desk and returning to the inner office. Unable to stop smiling, he dropped everything on his partner's desk as he sat again, smoothing his tie into place as he pulled the chair closer.

Glancing up with an affectionate grin, having a hard time keeping his own emotions under control, Mike leaned over the desk, eager to get started.

Steve opened the file and picked up a small stack of Polaroid photos, placing them one by one on the desk facing his partner. "These were taken at the warehouse in China Basin. Now, like I said last night, we've got the name of the company that owns the warehouse but we haven't been able to get the names of who owns the company yet." He held up one of the telephone messages. "This was on my desk. I think it's the lead we need about that." He glanced at his watch. "They probably won't open till 9 but I'll give them a call at 8 and see if they start early."

"Good. You know what we need, right?"

Steve nodded. "Yep, the name of everyone connected to the company – owners, employees, anyone who ever rented it and didn't return a key… anyone with a key…"

Mike was nodding. "Yeah… it's bound to be quite the list, I would think. And it'll probably take time for them to put it together. See if they have an office somewhere… maybe we can pay them a little visit later today to… you know… encourage them to be a little more efficient in providing us the information we need…"

Steve chuckled. "It'll be great to have my muscle back…"

"Hey, that's what I'm here for," Mike laughed. "Okay, what else have you got?"

# # # # #

Steve was back at his desk, still trying to get someone to answer the phone at Markham & Sons Importers. It was 9:23 and there was still no response. He was tapping his pencil impatiently on the desk, contemplating heading over there in person to see if the company was still in business.

He glanced at the inner office. Mike had had a busy morning already. Everyone had stopped in as they arrived, welcoming the boss back with unbridled enthusiasm, and the relief and infectious optimism was palpable in the Homicide bureau. Every face bore a smile, at least temporarily.

Now Mike had Healey and Haseejian in his office, going over the details of the two cases they were working on, and he could hear the murmur of their voices through the glass walls. He smiled to himself, knowing he couldn't put into words how he was feeling right now.

# # # # #

The inner office door opened and a grinning Tanner and Lessing exited, chuckling, heading back to their respective desks. Mike was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his glasses in his hand. He looked at his partner's desk and smiled. "Anything?"

Steve leaned back in his chair, smoothing his tie down. "Well, they finally called back. They said they're more than willing to give us a list but…" He shook his head slightly in frustration, tossing his hands up.

"What, you don't believe them?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. They just don't sound… too enthusiastic about it, let's put it that way."

"You did tell them about the bloodstain, right?"

"Oh yeah… the guy on the phone – Mr. Butler… didn't seem to phase him one bit."

Mike frowned. "Now that's odd, isn't it?"

Steve snorted. "That's what I thought."

Mike contemplated that for a second. "Listen, ah, I'm all caught up with everything. What say you and I make a little house call?"

Steve leaned forward, grinning. "To Markham and Sons?"

"Yeah…"

Laughing, Steve started to get to his feet. "I like the way you think, Lieutenant. I'll drive."

Chuckling, Mike stuffed his glasses into his shirt pocket and started to take his jacket and hat off the coat rack. "You bet you will."


	105. Chapter 105

The moss green LTD pulled to the curb in front of the small grey stucco building with the large Markham & Sons Importers sign in peeling white cursive letters on a blue background above the large plate-glass window. Both doors opened and the two detectives got out, giving the shabby structure their professional once-over.

"Humh, doesn't look like a very prosperous business, does it?" Steve chuckled dryly as he joined his partner on the sidewalk.

"It sure doesn't," Mike agreed with a snort as they crossed to the glass front door and he pulled it open, preceding the younger man into the small, sparsely furnished lobby. A young brunette with a beehive hairdo, reading a movie magazine, looked up from behind a low counter as they entered.

With their I.D.'s and stars in their hands, Mike nodded politely. "Good morning. I'm Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller," he began pleasantly with a nod towards his companion. He chuckled under his breath when the young woman's eyes slid from his badge to his partner, widening noticeably and smiling at him almost lasciviously; he had gotten used to that over the years but it never ceased to amuse him.

"What, ah, what can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked almost robotically, her eyes never leaving the handsome young man, who smiled back, knowing they could use her infatuation to their advantage.

Steve approached the counter, maintaining the somewhat awkward eye contact. "We're, ah, we're here to see Mr. Butler. Is he in?"

She blinked at him blankly for a couple of long seconds then shook her head slightly. "Um, ah, yes, ah, he's in his office…"

There was a pause; both detectives waited. Finally Steve's smile got a little wider. "And that would be….?"

Her face went blank and she frowned as if she didn't understand what he was intimating. Then suddenly her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, uh…" She pointed to her left, down a short corridor lined with closed doors. "Uh, second door on the left." She shrugged, staring at him doe-eyed again. "Sorry…"

He smiled warmly and her heart melted again. "No problem… thank you…" He glanced at his subtly smirking partner as they started down the short hallway, Mike in the lead. He knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

With an anticipatory glance at his partner, Mike opened the door and strode into the room, his badge still in his hand. "Mr. Butler, I presume?" he said without preamble as he quickly took the two short steps to the corner of the desk, looming over the chair's occupant.

Dropping his pen in surprise, Butler recoiled, looking like a beaten dog. It was not quite the reaction Mike was anticipating and he glanced quickly over his shoulder at his partner, frowning.

Steve stepped closer to the desk, flashing his own gold star. "Mr. Butler, this is Lieutenant Stone, I'm Inspector Keller. I spoke to you this morning about the discovery in your warehouse on Cargo Way…?"

Butler, a pudgy, middle-aged balding nebbish, stared at him wide-eyed through thick black-rimmed glasses and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I remember… I didn't think you were…?" His soft voice trailed off as he gestured feebly with his right hand.

Smiling coldly, Mike continued smoothly, "You didn't think we were going to show up so soon?" he asked rhetorically. "Well, I believe Inspector Keller told you how important it was for us to get those lists of employees, tenants, renters and anyone else that might have a key to that warehouse… didn't he?"

Butler's fear-filled eyes slid from the lieutenant to the smiling inspector and back again and he nodded slowly. "Ah, yes… yes, he did." He glanced down at the pad of paper on the desk. "I'm, ah… I'm working on it."

"You are?" Mike's eyebrows shot up and his voice took on an incredulous tone as he leaned over the desk, quickly scanning the yellow legal-length pad. "Hunh…" he grunted in surprise, glancing at his partner, "well, that sort of looks like you're writing out your resume, Mr. Butler." He looked at the office manager with a curious smile. "Is that what this is?"

Butler stared at Mike without moving for a couple of very uncomfortable seconds then dropped his head suddenly with a groan that sounded remarkably like despair. "Oh, to hell with it," he growled angrily and the partners looked at each other, frowning.

Butler looked up, his demoralized eyes snapping back and forth between them. "I don't care anymore… do what you have to. I just don't care anymore…"

Sensing there was more going on here than just an overworked employee going off the deep end, Mike smiled comfortingly, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. "So what don't you care about anymore, Mr. Butler?" he asked gently, now projecting an aura of calm concern instead of rigid authority.

Butler was looking up at him pleadingly. "This… place," he waved his hands around, "this job…" His eyes snapped from one to the other again. "Look, officers – "

"Detectives," Mike admonished smoothly.

"Sorry… detectives…" Butler corrected himself with a quick smile, "I've been with this company for twelve years… worked my way up from the floor to this," he gestured around the room. "Office manager…" He snorted derisively. "That was when they _had_ a floor…" he growled again.

Shooting a dark look at his partner, Steve stepped closer to the desk. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Butler sighed, looking at the younger cop, "this company hasn't been in business for months… almost six months now. Miss Sanders out there," he nodded towards the lobby, "she hasn't been paid in six weeks. I haven't been paid in three months. So I don't care anymore…" He pointed at two large filing cabinets in the far corner of the small room. "You see those?"

Both detectives nodded.

"Everything this company ever did, all the employees, renters, etc., etc., is in those two cabinets." He looked at Steve. "They're all yours."

The inspector blinked. "What?"

"All those lists you wanted…? All that information you want is in those, and you can have him." He got up, pushing his way past Mike to the coat rack in the corner. Looking back at both detectives as he took his suitcoat off the rack and slipped it on, he said stiffly, "Gentlemen, I quit." He strode out into the hallway. A second or two later they heard him yell, "Miss Sanders, you're fired!" before the outside door opened and closed.

Not moving, the partners looked at each other bemusedly and waited. A sharp feminine "Harrumph" was quickly followed by the sound of a chair being slid back harshly over the linoleum floor, then the click of high heels across the same floor preceded the front door opening and closing once more.

Mike tried not to laugh for a couple of seconds but was woefully unsuccessful. His entire body started to shake. Steve was grinning at him. "I see you still have your superpowers," he said with a chuckle and the older man shrugged as his laughter filled the small room.

"What the hell was _that?_" Mike blurted out finally, continuing to chuckle. He stepped to the door and looked out into the hallway. "We seem to be the only ones here…"

With a heavy, mirth-filled sigh, Steve started to cross to the filing cabinets. "What are the odds that these things are almost empty?" he mused, sounding halfway between hope and dread.

"Yeah, right," Mike chuckled, moving closer as Steve opened the top drawer of the first cabinet. It was overstuffed with files.

"Great," Steve mumbled under his breath. He opened all the drawers; they were all stuffed. Squatting before the bottom drawer of the second cabinet, he looked up woefully at his partner. "So, any suggestion about what we should do now? I mean, do we take just the files or do you want to take the cabinets too?"

Mike was frowning. "Good question." He turned to look pointedly at the young man beside him but said nothing.

After a beat, Steve asked, "What?"

"Well, you're still the lead on this case, so I think that makes it your decision, not mine."

His features folding into a smirk, Steve looked back at the cabinets. "Let's take the whole damn thing. I'll give patrol a call and let them figure out how to get them back to the hall."

Mike snorted. "They're gonna love you for that."

"Hey, you always say, rank has its privileges. So… I'm gonna pull rank for once. You got a problem with that?" There was no sting in his words, just amusement.

With a shake of his head and a knowing smile, Mike stuck his hands back in his pockets and strolled towards the office door. He nodded towards the phone on the desk. "Go ahead… be my guest."

Smirking, Steve crossed to the desk, dropped into Butler's vacated chair and picked up the receiver.

# # # # #

Captain Rudy Olsen was waiting for the elevator on the fourth floor when the doors opened and a uniformed officer started to back out with a large filing cabinet on a hand trolley. He watched in awe as a second officer appeared with another cabinet on another trolley. "What the hell…?" he muttered as they started down the corridor towards Homicide.

"Potential evidence," came a familiar voice from over his right shoulder and he spun quickly as a grinning Mike Stone, hands in his pants pockets, stepped casually from the elevator car to follow the cabinets, his chuckling partner right behind him. Nonchalantly, knowing their captain was staring at them, they continued down the corridor, disappearing as they followed the two officers struggling to get the cabinets through the narrow doorway.

# # # # #

There were files everywhere. Mike had the officers put one of the cabinets in his office and the other was beside Steve's desk, which was completely covered with stacks of manila folders of various thicknesses. He had been working his way through each folder meticulously, making a note of each name, and any other necessary particulars, he came across. There was an ever-growing stack of discarded files on the floor beside him which, he realized, he didn't know what to do with.

He closed a file and tossed it on the pile on the floor, glancing towards the inner office. He could barely see the top of Mike's head over the mountain of files on his partner's desk and he chuckled quietly to himself. This was going to take a lot of time…

He glanced at his watch. "Oh, shit…" He got quickly to his feet and strode the glass-paneled door, throwing it open. "Hey!" he barked, urgency in his voice, and the older man's head snapped up, looking at him overtop of his reading glasses. Steve pointed at his watch then started to roll his sleeve down. "We're gonna be late!"

Mike looked at his own watch. "Geez, you're right." He tossed the pen on the pad and got to his feet, slipping the glasses into his shirt pocket; Steve headed back to his desk . "Thanks for reminding me," Mike chuckled as crossed around the desk to the coat rack, reaching for his jacket and hat. As he slipped his jacket on, he nodded back at Steve's desk. "So how long do you think this is gonna take us? Next month, do you think?"

Snagging his jacket from the back of his chair, Steve started towards the door. "Bite your tongue!" he called over his shoulder and heard his partner laugh as he followed.

# # # # #

"Jeannie, that smells incredible," Steve said as he and Mike took off their jackets and ties, making themselves comfortable. She was standing in the kitchen entranceway, watching them, thrilled beyond words that her father was back to work and that they were together again. She could only imagine how Steve felt; but if his perpetual grin was any indication, he was over the moon.

"May I get you gentlemen an aperitif?" she asked, catching Steve's eye and smiling with a slight nod.

Mike turned to her and grinned, rubbing his hands together. "That sounds wonderful. What do we have?"

"You two just stay here, I'll get it," she said brightly, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Mike looked at the younger man and frowned slightly, then shrugged and crossed towards the recliner. Before he had a chance to sit, a beaming Jeannie reappeared with a large tray; on it were three tall flutes and a chilled bottle of Bollinger Special Cuvee Brut Champagne.

The older man froze momentarily, staring at the bottle then looking up at his daughter, suddenly at a loss for words.

She chuckled. "Don't worry, Daddy, I didn't buy it… Steve did." She looked towards the younger man, who was watching his partner with a warm smile. "Would you care to do the honours?"

With a gentle nod, Steve picked up the bottle, deftly removing the muselet and gently easing the cork out with a soft pop as the others watched silently. He poured the bubbling pale amber liquid into the three flutes then picked two up, handing one to Jeannie and the other to Mike.

When he picked up the third, he turned to face his partner, the love and respect shining in his eyes. Mike was staring back, his blue eyes bright, trying to get his trembling lips to smile. With a gentle chuckle, Steve raised his glass. "To us," he said quietly.


	106. Chapter 106

"Jeannie, at the risk of repeating myself again, you've outdone yourself," Steve chuckled as he sat back, putting his crumpled napkin on the table, crossing his legs and reaching for the coffee cup once more.

"Here here," his partner echoed emphatically, beaming at his daughter warmly as he leaned towards her, his forearms against the edge of the table. "It was well worth the thousands of dollars you paid for it this morning," he chuckled, watching as she smirked at him through a narrowed stare.

"Ha ha ha," she said dryly, a sparkle in her eyes. "It was only _hundreds_ and you know it, smarty."

Laughing, he sat back. "Well, whatever it cost, it was worth it." He looked at Steve. "From the boat straight to our plates… it doesn't get much fresher than that, does it?"

"It sure doesn't," the younger man agreed. "And the perfect end to a very frustrating day…" He chuckled and shook his head.

Mike rolled his eyes. "You can say that again. You know, I've been thinking…_" The phone rang. Mike froze for a beat then looked at his partner and sighed. His eyes slid towards his daughter as the second ring started. "I really don't want to answer that but I don't have a choice…"

"I'll get it," Jeannie said quickly, jumping up and disappearing into the kitchen. "Hello?" they heard her say as she lifted the receiver mid-ring. "Yes, he is. Just a minute please."

Mike was already coming up behind her when she turned and handed him the receiver with raised eyebrows. Trying not to sigh again, he put the phone to his ear. "Stone."

Jeannie returned to the table and sat. "Dispatch…" she mouthed to Steve and rolled her eyes. They could hear Mike's monosyllabic responses then the sound of the receiver being hung up. The older man appeared in the doorway and leaned against frame; his face told the story.

Steve stared at him for a beat then exhaled heavily. "We've gotta go, right…?"

Bobbling his head, Mike nodded soberly before looking at his daughter. "Jeannie, I'm so –"

"You don't have to apologize, Mike, I've gotten used to it, believe me," she chuckled gently then looked at Steve. "My mom went through this her entire life, so I've learned from the best." She smiled knowingly, turning back to her father and winking.

His smile wavered slightly and he nodded. "Thanks, sweetheart." He pushed himself away from the door and started towards the closet as Steve got to his feet.

"I was really looking forward to that pie," the younger man said with a smile as he started to follow his partner.

"Don't worry, it'll keep," she assured them both. "Maybe if you get finished early enough we can still have it," she said optimistically, knowing it was more than a longshot.

Mike was shrugging on his suitcoat. "Ha ha, yeah… Don't wait up for us," he instructed as he picked up his hat. She had crossed to him and he leaned down to kiss her.

Steve, his jacket already on and the car keys in his hand, opened the door. "Jeannie, thanks for the wonderful dinner."

"You're welcome," she grinned, watching as they stepped out onto the landing and started down the stairs. She followed them out, watching them disappear into the dark as they descended to the sidewalk and crossed the street to the car.

As the taillights of the moss green sedan grew smaller as it sped down the street and around the corner, she moved slowly back into the house and shut the door.

# # # # #

"What have we got, Hal?" Mike asked the uniformed sergeant as he entered the small apartment filled with cops and ambulance attendants. Steve nodded at the senior officer as he stepped further into the room, his eyes snapping around, taking in every detail.

Sergeant Hal Preston pointed at the body on the floor. "Victim is a…" he glanced at his notebook, "Robert Hancock, 21 years old, he lives here. Took one bullet in the chest… right to the heart. Didn't have a chance."

The dead man was lying on his back, his arms outstretched. His shirt had been pulled open and there was a small black hole in his chest right over his heart. There was very little blood.

"He, ah, he was found face down, the medics turned him over to work on him but it was too late, he was gone. Had to've been instant." His eyes swept the sparsely furnished room. "This is his place, lives alone. The guy who shot him was a friend… visiting him tonight. He's the one that called it in."

Mike nodded, tight-lipped, watching as Steve squatted beside the body and studied it thoroughly. "He still here?"

The sergeant snorted. "Yeah, sure is. He's in the kitchen. Says it was an accident. Says he was showing the victim his gun when it went off accidently. A Smith & Wesson M59. Says he didn't know it was loaded… you know how it is, right…?" He pointed at a patrolman standing a few feet away, holding a large plastic bag. The patrolman lifted it up and they could see the semi-automatic inside.

Mike shook his head; he'd heard that story more often than he wished. He studied the sergeant, his eyes narrowing. Preston had been on the streets a long time and he knew his stuff. "What do you think, Hal?"

Preston shrugged. "I kinda believe him, Mike."

The lieutenant nodded. "Okay, thanks." He started towards the kitchen. Steve straightened up and followed him.

They could hear the panicked sobbing before they even entered the room. A young man with longish blond hair was sitting on a wooden chair, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. A patrolman was standing over him, his hand on the younger man's shoulder sympathetically; he looked up as the detectives entered and nodded in recognition.

"Hey, Danny," Steve said softly, patting the uniformed officer on the back as the young cop nodded at the lieutenant.

"Steve…" Officer Scott said quietly, "this is Darcy McMillen. He's, ah, he was a friend of the deceased…"

"I didn't mean to do it…" came the low moan from the chair and the young blond man's shoulders shook again. Scott tightened his grip.

"Take it easy, Darcy, it's gonna be okay…"

Scott looked up at the detectives again and shrugged slightly. Mike nodded and Scott removed his hand and backed away. Steve cleared his throat. "Ah, Mr. McMillan?" The young man's head came up slowly. "I'm Inspector Keller and this is Lieutenant Stone. Could you tell us what happened here tonight?"

Gasping, unable to breathe though his stuffed nose, McMillen raised his right hand and wiped it across his upper lip, sniffing. "It was an accident… honest to god… I, ah, I was just showing him my gun… I just got it… I didn't know it was loaded… I thought I'd taken all the bullets out…" His tear-filled eyes were sliding from one detective to the other as if pleading for them to believe him.

Mike, who had been staring at the young man with a very furrowed brow, smiled grimly. "You took the magazine out but didn't realize there was still a bullet in the chamber…?"

McMillen, his eyes red and moist, nodded vigorously. "I guess… I was just holding it… and it went off…" He started to cry again and dropped his head.

Steve looked at his partner; Mike was still staring at McMillen with a frown. He raised his eyebrows, asking the silent question, and Mike glanced at him and nodded. "Okay, Mr. McMillen, we're probably going to have some more questions for you later but we're done for now. Have you given Officer Costaldo your address and phone number?" He glanced at the patrolman, who nodded, as did McMillen. "Okay, great… you, ah, you just take it easy."

They could all hear the arrival of the coroner in the living room and Steve leaned closer to Costaldo. "Keep him in here till they get the body removed, okay?"

Costaldo nodded, putting his hand on McMillen's shoulder again. Steve headed back towards the living room and was halfway there before he noticed Mike just starting to follow him. He glanced over his shoulder, frowning; the older man seemed distracted.

They waited silently while photographs were taken and the corpse placed in the black body bag, two large officers beginning the hard task of lugging it down the steep staircase to the waiting coroner's wagon.

"The paperwork'll be on your desk first thing in the morning," Preston told Mike after the body bag disappeared through the door. "Seems pretty cut and dried though…" He shrugged then smiled. "Sorry to call you guys out so late – hope I didn't pull you away from anything, but…"

Mike chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Hal, Steve and I were top of the list for the next case anyway… and we'd just finished dinner…" He smiled proudly. "My daughter cooked us a Chinook…"

"Oooohhh," the sergeant moaned, looking both stricken and jealous, "I haven't had one a those in ages… they've gotten so damn expensive…" he belly-ached good-naturedly then smiled warmly. "Yeah, we all heard you were back at work… good for you."

Mike looked down self-consciously, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. "Thanks," he acknowledged quietly. "Listen, ah, you're gonna wrap up things here?" He gestured around the room with his chin.

"Yeah, yeah, we got this. We'll get all the paperwork done." Preston looked towards the kitchen and nodded. "You guys can get outa here. We'll take Mr. McMillen home."

Mike nodded. "See that he really lives there, right? I don't want him skipping town on us in case we have any more questions," he said softly, as if he was still preoccupied. Steve looked at him with a frown; Preston clocked the puzzled look but said nothing.

"You got it, Mike."

Gathering his partner with a nod, Mike started towards the door. Steve smiled his thanks to the sergeant and followed. As they got into the car and closed the doors, Steve shot a look across the front seat. "What's wrong?"

"Humh?" Mike snorted, frowning. "What?"

Steve chuckled. "Where were you?"

"Oh, ah, sorry, bud-… sorry…" Mike looked down and laughed softly.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine," Mike assured quickly, almost embarrassed. "It's just… I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but I think I've met him before… McMillen? I'm pretty sure I've run across him before…"

"Where?"

Mike shrugged, shaking his head. "I don't know, that's what I've been trying to figure out." He fixed the younger man with a stare. "Does he look familiar to you?"

Steve shook his head. "No… not at all…"

"Then it had to've been before we starting working together…" Mike was staring unfocused into the middle distance between them. "Why can't I remember?" he growled to himself.

Chuckling, Steve stuck the key in the ignition and turned the engine over. "It'll come to you…"

"Yeah, I hope so," the older man murmured. He head snapped up. "Listen, it's not too late. Let's swing by the office for a bit, maybe I can jog my own memory…"

As he shifted into Drive, Steve glanced across the front seat. "You know, if it was before I started with you, that'd make it at least four years ago… McMillen's what? 21, 22? So that would make him 17 or 18… or younger… Does that help?"

Mike snorted a laugh. "Nope… but thanks for trying…" They both chuckled.

# # # # #

She heard the key turning in front door lock and opened her eyes. Her bedroom was pitch dark; she swiveled her head to look at the clock/radio on the nightstand. 4:12. With a worried sigh, she flung the sheet off and got up, grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed and slipping it on as she crossed to the door.

A tired-looking Mike, his tie loose and his hat askew, was slipping off his shoes when she appeared at the top of the stairs. Sensing her presence, he looked up and smiled wearily. "'Sorry, sweetheart…"

"Mike, you look exhausted…" Though she was trying hard not to, she knew she sounded worried.

His smile got a little wider. "I'm a little tired," he admitted reluctantly with a soft chuckle, taking his hat off the tossing it on the upper shelf in the clothes closet. He started up the stairs towards her. "So I'm gonna go to bed." He kissed her as he passed her on the stairs. "Don't wake me for breakfast, okay?" he laughed softly.

She watched as he disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door. She sighed angrily; first day back and he was already overworking himself.


	107. Chapter 107

Steve glanced up as Mike charged into the bullpen, looking flushed, his hat pushed back on his head and his tie slightly loosened, collar button undone. "Sorry I'm late," he growled as he almost jogged to his office, tearing off his jacket and slamming both it and his hat on the rack before crossing around behind the desk and angrily slipping the .38 off his belt, dropping it in the top drawer.

Sleeves rolled up and his own tie undone, Steve had gotten up quickly and trailed his partner to the door, smiling softly. "Relax, relax," he soothed gently, "you're not late… I just got in myself. We didn't get home until after 4, remember…? And it's only 10… you're not late…"

Mike stopped moving and stared at him, brow furrowed then he sagged and snorted softly. He bobbled his head. "You're right… Did you get some sleep?"

"A couple of hours, yeah," Steve admitted with a chuckle as he stepped to the corner of the desk as the older man sat. "You?"

"A few, yeah." He glared at the stacks of files on his desk.

"Listen, ah, you figure out where you remember that McMillen kid from?" the younger man asked as he dropped into the guest chair.

With a frustrated frown, Mike shook his head. "Nope… and sleeping on it didn't help," he chuckled. "I guess I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way, good old detective work…"

Steve grinned. "Well, I know it's going to bug the hell out of you until you figure it out, so why don't you take however long it takes and I'll keep plugging away at these files. How does that sound?"

Mike smiled at him affectionately. "Bug the hell out of me, hunh?" He nodded once. "You're right. Thanks, smiley. I have a couple of ideas so…?"

"Good." Steve got to his feet, turning back at the door. "You had a coffee already?"

Mike, who had fished his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and was putting them on, looked up. "Yeah, but I can always use another…" he admitted, starting to reach into his pants pocket.

"No no no, it's on me," Steve laughed, heading for the coffeepot.

"Thanks!" Mike called after him, smiling warmly and chuckling, rubbing his hands together before picking up the black receiver and dialing a number he knew by heart.

# # # # #

Steve glanced at his watch. 2:21. He looked up and into the inner office; Mike, his glasses on, was poring over one of the many files that still covered his desk. He got up and crossed to the door, starting to roll his sleeves down. When Mike didn't acknowledge his presence, he knocked lightly on the open glass door. The older man's head shot up.

"It's almost two-thirty," Steve said with a nod. "Let's take a break and go grab a bite."

Frowning, Mike looked at his watch, his eyebrows rising. "Jeez, you're right. Okay, let's go…" He tossed his pen on the desk and stood, starting to roll his own sleeves down.

"Still nothing on McMillen?"

Mike shook his head, pursing his lips. "No… I'm waiting for a call, though… I have a hunch…"

Steve grinned. "A hunch, hunh? Care to share, Lieutenant?"

Chuckling, Mike shook his head again. "Not on your life. Like I've said before, if I don't share, and I'm wrong, then nobody knows but me…"

"Coward…" Steve laughed under his breath as he headed back to his desk to get his jacket.

After taking his gun out of the drawer and clipping it on his belt, Mike crossed to the coat rack, jamming the fedora on his head and shrugging into his suitcoat, watching his partner with a smug smile. He had just taken a step into the bullpen when his phone rang. He stopped abruptly, glanced at his partner then returned to the desk and picked up the receiver. "Homicide, Stone."

Steve crossed back to the inner office door and watched as Mike listened, expressionless.

"Yeah… Yeah… Okay, thanks… Yeah, yeah, thanks a lot, Charlie, it sure does…" Slowly, as if in a trance, Mike slowly replaced the receiver on the cradle, staring blankly into space.

Steve waited a couple of seconds before asking softly, "So… was that the news you wanted…?"

Very gradually Mike's eyes turned in his direction and the wisp of a smile curled his lips. He sighed quietly before he saying enigmatically, "Come on, smiley, let's go have lunch. And I'll tell you a little story."

# # # # #

It was a startlingly bright day with a cool breeze blowing in off the Bay. Mama's was getting ready to close for the day but Mike's favourite restaurant wasn't about to let one of its best customers go without. Mama Sanchez whipped up two Monte Cristos and sent the happy detectives on their way.

Settling onto a bench in the sun in Washington Park opposite the imposing Saint Peter and Paul Church, Mike set his cup of coffee on the ground near his feet as he carefully unwrapped the mouth-watering sandwich. He hadn't mentioned word one about Charlie's phone call since they'd left the office and Steve's curiosity was beginning to get the better of him.

Mike admired the grilled masterpiece before taking his first bite, eyes closed. He groaned with pleasure and the younger man chuckled, unwrapping his own sandwich.

"So, what is this story you're going to tell me?"

Chewing and swallowing, Mike smiled. "Well, now," he started with a chuckle, "it all took place about nine years ago…"

"Before my time…" Steve chuckled, taking a bite of his Monte Cristo.

"Definitely before your time," Mike agreed with a laugh. "Barney Lujack was my partner then – you never met Barney, did you?"

Steve shook his head, chewing.

"Anyway, we got a call, one of the worst you can get… a twelve-year-old boy… John Foster. I'll never forget his name…" Mike's eyes unfocused and he paused for a moment, remembering, then shook his head slightly and smiled softly. "He was accidentally shot at a friend's house… The young boy who lived there had found his father's gun and was showing it off to his friend when the gun went off and the bullet struck John Foster in the head… Killed him instantly…" He paused and looked down, swallowing heavily.

After a deep breath, he looked up again. "Jeremy Walker. That was the other boy's name… the boy who accidentally pulled the trigger… He was twelve as well… It was horrible… the whole thing… The boy who got killed… the boy who pulled the trigger… The father who blamed himself for having a loaded gun in the house… Everybody felt guilty…"

He paused again. Both of them were sitting very still, sandwiches forgotten in their hands. Mike took another deep breath. "Anyway, we didn't charge the kid… it was an accident. The family ended up moving out of town… they just couldn't stay in that neighborhood anymore… John Foster's parents got divorced. He was their only child…" He raised his head and looked his partner in the eye. "It was just a tragedy all around…"

Steve nodded slowly. "So, ah, so this shooting reminded you of that?"

Mike smiled inscrutably. "Oh, it did a little more than that…" With a soft chuckle, he raised the sandwich and took a bite.

Steve frowned, glaring at the older man with barely concealed impatience. He knew his partner was enjoying dragging this out. With a chuckle of his own, he took a bite of his sandwich.

After Mike swallowed, he continued. "I, ah, I had Charlie run the prints on that semi-auto they confiscated at the scene last night. And he found a match…" He paused, staring his partner in the eyes; the lightness was gone and he was deadly serious. "Darcy McMillen isn't really Darcy McMillen… he's Jeremy Walker…"

Steve froze, his mouth dropping open. "What…?"

Mike nodded slowly. "He's Jeremy Walker," he repeated softly, "and he just made his second kill…"

# # # # #

Mike wadded up the waxed paper from around the sandwich and stuffed it in the empty cardboard coffee cup, getting to his feet. He glanced at his watch. "Okay, let's try to catch Gerry while he's still in the office. I want to just run all this past him before we go talk to our Mr. Walker… or McMillen again. I don't know about you but I don't want that little bastard thinking he's gotten away with it again."

Steve stood up as well, taking the coffee cup from his partner and crossing to a nearby trashcan. "Sounds good to me." He returned with a smile. "It'll be nice to actually arrest someone again… it's been awhile…"

Mike laughed. "Believe me, I know how you feel."

# # # # #

The moss green LTD pulled to the curb and the engine was shut off. Steve looked at his partner, who was staring through the windshield at a small two-storey, four apartment beige stucco building about halfway down the block on the far side. "How do you want to do this?" he asked.

Mike glanced at him. "Well, let's hope he's home…" He chuckled dryly. "I have a sneaking suspicion that he more than likely recognized me the second he saw me –"

"Well, you're hard to forget," Steve chuckled evilly and the older man shot him a narrow-eyed look before clearing his throat pointedly and carrying on.

"So he'll probably panic when he sees me at his door… and knowing how guys like that think, he'll probably bolt. Now we know from what Hal told us that his apartment is the one on the right on the second floor. So chances are there are a couple a windows. So –"

"You take the door, I'll take the alley," Steve interrupted smoothly with a smirk and a chuckle.

Mike froze for a split second then smiled. "However did you know?"

"Lucky guess…" The younger man reached out and slapped his partner on the arm then got out of the car. He started across the street, hearing Mike's door close and the older man jogging around the car to catch up to him. They started down the street towards the apartment building in silence, both pairs of eyes scanning the street for anything untowards.

As they approached the building, Steve asked softly, "What do you want to do if he's not here?"

"We wait," Mike said firmly, not taking his eyes from the wrought-iron gate that protected the front door they were now standing before. He nodded in the younger man's direction and Steve nodded back, disappearing into the alley on their right between the two buildings.

Mike pulled on the gate and it opened. Relieved, he stepped to the front door and tried the knob. It was locked. Cursing under his breath, he glanced at the four doorbells, each of them with hand-written numbers on white tape above them. He wanted apartment number three but didn't want to tip his hand. He pressed the button for apartment number one, hoping that someone was home.

After several seconds he heard an interior door open then the heavy front door was pulled open quickly. A heavyset young woman with long red hair and granny glasses glared at him angrily. "What?"

His I.D. and star already in his hand, Mike recoiled slightly at the unexpected vehemence. "Lieutenant Stone, Homicide." That one word never failed to elicit the reaction he wanted and he swallowed a smile when her face fell and she took an involuntary step backwards.

"Homicide…?" she echoed shakily.

"This has nothing to do with you, Miss, I just need access to this building." As he began to take a step into the small hallway, she stumbled back, taking her hand off the doorknob and moving closer to her own open door. He pointed in that direction. "Please go back into your apartment and lock your door," he instructed as he strode past her towards the stairs and didn't have to look back as he heard the door slam and the lock tumblers click into place.

Smiling to himself, he took the steps to the second floor two at a time. Apartment three was on the right. Taking a deep breath, he faced the door, raised his right fist, and knocked.


	108. Chapter 108

Mike waited, staring at the door and listening carefully; there was no sound from within. He was just raising his right hand to knock again when he heard what sounded like a dull thud behind the door then it opened. The young blond man who called himself Darcy McMillen stared at the detective, his eyes snapping wide.

Mike smiled coldly. "Recognize me, Jeremy?" he asked conversationally, every muscle tensed, every sense on full alert.

Suddenly the young man was in motion, trying to close the door, but Mike took a quick step forward, putting his left foot over the threshold. The door slammed into his shoulder and knee and he gasped with the pain but managed to bull his way forward, knocking Walker backwards but not off his feet. Scrambling to regain his balance, Walker turned and shot deeper into the apartment.

"He's running!" Mike yelled at the top of his lungs, hoping Steve could hear him as he pushed the door open and charged after the fleeing young man.

Walker disappeared into a room and slammed the door before Mike could get to it. He could hear something dragged quickly across the floor and hit the door. He turned the knob but it didn't open. Cursing under his breath, he took a step back, turned slightly then threw himself at the door, his left shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.

The door shot open, a chair skidding across the floor, and he stumbled into the room in time to see Walker's hands on the windowsill as he dropped out of sight. Sprinting across the small room, Mike leaned out the small window, gasping for breath, his heart pounding.

# # # # #

Standing in the alley, looking up at the two small open windows he hoped were the ones for apartment number three, Steve heard his partner's bellow. He tensed, reaching across his body for the .38 on his left hip. He could hear the sounds of slamming doors and running feet and suddenly someone appeared in the window on his right, scrambling onto the sill and then shimmying down till he was hanging by his hands two floors up, pausing as if having second thoughts about the drop.

There was the sound of another door, this one closer, banging open and the young man suddenly let go and plummeted to the ground, making a hard landing and grunting in pain.

Crossing to him quickly, Steve grabbed Walker's shirt and pulled him up onto his knees, trying to throw him onto his back but Walker bucked, throwing his left elbow up and back violently. Steve deked out of the way, briefly losing his grip on the unbuttoned shirt, but grabbed the younger man again, driving his knee into the his side. He heard the loud release of air and the groan of pain and Walker flopped over onto his back. Steve released his hold on the shirt and took a step back, the .38 now pointed at Walker's head. "Don't move!"

Both of them froze, staring at each other. Walker shifted suddenly, putting his hands on the ground to push himself up and Steve cocked his head, taking a half step closer and lowering the barrel of the gun till it was only inches from the younger man's face. Walker froze again and swallowed heavily. He dropped his butt back onto the ground and, with a low growl, raised his hands and locked them behind his neck.

"Smart move," the cop said quietly then chanced a glance up.

Mike was leaning out the window Walker had jumped from, smiling down at him. They nodded to each other then Mike disappeared back into the room.

"Get up!" Steve growled, taking a step behind Walker and gesturing with his gun.

Trying to maintain his balance with his hands behind his head, Walker struggled to his feet and started down the alley. By the time they got to the sidewalk, Mike was coming through the wrought-iron gate; he glanced at his partner with a relieved smile.

Acknowledging the look with a nod, Steve gestured towards Walker with his chin. "Lieutenant, would you care to do the honors…?"

Mike chuckled dryly. "It would be my pleasure." Snapping the handcuffs off the back of his belt, he moved behind Walker, reaching up to grab the young man's right wrist and pull it down, snapping the cuff on then reaching for the other hand. "Jeremy Walker, you have the right to remain silent…"

# # # # #

Steve was filling the second cup with the dregs of the coffee pot when Healey wandered up alongside him. The older detective gestured with his chin towards the interrogation room where Walker sat sullenly on the far side of the table, his head down, cuffed hands in his lap, opposite Mike, who was leaning back, legs outstretched and crossed and his arms folded.

"He still hasn't said anything?" Healey asked, frowning.

Steve shook his head. "Not a word. Mike's trying to wait him out but I don't think he's going to be successful. That is one stubborn young man." He snorted dryly.

The Irish detective chuckled. "Well, let's hope he's met his match in Mike." He glanced down at the two cups on the small table. "You want me to take one of those?"

"Could you? Thanks." Steve picked up one of the cups and an ice-cold can of Coke and started across the bullpen, Healey behind him with the second cup. Slipping around the younger cop, Healey opened the door and pushed it wide, allowing Steve to enter ahead of him.

Handing the cup to his partner, Steve leaned over the table and slammed the Coke can down in front of Walker, who jumped slightly then looked up angrily. Steve turned back to Healey and took the other cup; with a nod and slight smile, Healey closed the door as Steve sat beside Mike, taking a sip of the hot and slightly bitter liquid. The older man glanced at his partner, his eyes conveying his thanks.

After several long silent beats, Mike leaned forward and set the cup on the table. "Well, Jeremy, if you're not going to tell us what really happened, then I'm going to tell you what I think happened… and then I'm going to arrest you for murder…"

Steve glanced at Mike sharply, knowing they didn't have enough yet to take that drastic step, but when Mike shot him a quick look with a slight smile, he relaxed and settled back in the hard wooden chair. It was a bluff, he realized, but the young man across the table from them didn't know that.

"You don't have any friends, do you, Jeremy? You say you do, but you don't. At least you don't have any friends that are alive anymore, am I right?" Mike's voice was calm and even, his tone almost conversational, but no one in the room was fooled; he was livid.

"John Foster was your friend… or so he thought. You're very good at that, making people think they're your friend. Up until you point a gun at them and pull the trigger, I bet they think you're the best friend they've ever had… But you really don't care about them… You only care about one thing, and that's yourself… and that's why you're such a good little liar… I mean, nine years ago you had everybody convinced that you were wracked with guilt, that the gun did go off accidentally, that you really didn't mean to shoot your best friend in the head…"

Mike paused; his eyes hadn't shifted one iota from the top of the young man's downturned head. Walker hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged in any way the accusations that continued to wash over him.

"And we believed you, everyone… even me… Those tears you shed…?" he snorted mirthlessly. "We didn't know at the time they were really just crocodile tears… I mean, what twelve-year-old boy coldly and brazenly kills his best friend…" Mike shifted slightly, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward slightly. He reached for the coffee cup and took a sip.

"You could've gotten away with it, you really could've… but you couldn't resist it, could you?" With a soft smile, he put the cup down again then leaned forward even further, closing the distance between them. "You couldn't resist trying your luck again, could you? And I have to admit, you almost got away with it again. You were very convincing last night… very convincing." He shrugged with a slight chuckle. "But I guess it was just bad luck that I was the one that answered the call… You know, I'm probably one of the oh so very few officers in the department that had the possibility of recognizing you… you know that now, right?"

Walker didn't move but they could see him take a deep breath.

"Why did you come back to The City, Jeremy? Why did you do it here? You could've done it anywhere, couldn't you, and nobody would've been the wiser… Nobody would've remembered that distraught twelve-year-old boy who accidently shot his best friend almost a decade ago… So why here?" Mike shrugged again and glanced at his partner.

Steve had sat up straighter, every nerve tingling, and he glanced at Mike; the older man knew that what he had said that had triggered that response and he smiled slightly.

"I mean, come on, Jeremy, your parents went to great lengths to protect you after you killed John Foster… They didn't know you did it on purpose, of course, but… don't you feel ever a little bit sorry for them? They had to move out of your neighborhood to protect you, they moved out of The City… They changed your name to protect you in case someone found out who you were and what you did… to give you a chance in life. They obviously love you, Jeremy, don't you love them?"

Walker took another deep breath but otherwise didn't move.

"You like to kill, don't you…? It gives you some kind of thrill… You got away with it the first time… so why not try it again, right?" Mike snorted with an animated shrug. "And you almost did… didn't you? You almost got away with it again…" He paused and let the words sink it then continued softly, "I know you think we can't prove it – and you're right. We can't right now."

Walker shifted slightly and Steve saw his partner's faint smile.

"But we will… don't worry about that. We will. You see, I'm going open that old case… John Foster's case. Steve and I are going to go back through all the notes and we're going to track down everybody we talked to then and talk to them all over again. And then we're going to talk to all the kids you went to school with, all the kids in your neighborhood, and ask them just what kind of a friend you were, really… and if you ever talked to any of them about wanting to watch somebody die…" Mike smiled coldly even though Walker wasn't looking at him.

"Because guys like you, Jeremy, they think they're really smart – and in a way they are… but they're also sometimes braggarts, thinking they're smarter than everybody else and they _can_ get away with murder… and sometimes they talk about it… Maybe just in passing… a joke in a bar or at a party… but it's not really a joke, if you know what I mean…"

He sat forward quickly and slapped the palm of his right hand on the table. The sound was deafening in the small room and both Steve and Walker jumped. The young man's eyes finally looked up and Mike was staring right into them.

"Is that what happened, Jeremy?" He paused for a brief second but Walker didn't move. "Did you joke about it to someone? Because we're going to find out. And when we do, you're going away for a very, very long time."

Both detectives could see the muscles in Walker's jaw tighten. "I was only twelve. You can't charge a juvenile with murder… it's the law."

Mike smiled coldly. "Oh, I'm well aware of the law, Jeremy. But I wasn't talking about John Foster anymore, I was talking about Robert Hancock. You remember him? You were showing him your gun last night when it went off accidentally and killed him. That sounds awfully coincidental, doesn't it?" He grimaced slightly, glancing at Steve. "You don't know me, Jeremy, but I'm not a big fan of coincidences." Walker looked down.

Suddenly pushing his chair back and beginning to stand, Mike looked at his partner. "Let him go." He crossed to the door then turned back.

Walker's head snapped up again. "But you arrested me… you read me my rights…"

Mike nodded with a cold smile. "You're right, we read you your rights, but we didn't arrest you. Were not going to arrest you right now, Jeremy, and we're not even going to hold you. But you're on notice. Stay in The City… 'cause if you even _think_ about leaving, I _will _have an arrest warrant issued and you'll stay behind bars until we can make a case. And trust me, we're going to make a case."

With a curt nod at his partner, Mike opened the door and left the room. Steve got slowly to his feet, circling the table as he fished the small silver key out of his pants pocket. Walked had placed his cuffed hands on the table and within seconds the metal bracelets were off. The younger man resisted the urge to rub his wrists, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, Steve assumed.

The inspector crossed to the open door and nodded at the uniformed officer who was standing guard, then turned back to Walker. "You heard the man. If I was you, I'd go home and do exactly as I was told." Without a backward glance, he crossed the bullpen, entered his partner's office and closed the door. Mike looked up and smiled.


	109. Chapter 109

Dropping into the guest chair, Steve looked over his shoulder through the glass wall and watched as Walker was escorted across the bullpen by the uniformed officer. He swiveled back to find his partner staring at him with a warm smile.

"So," the younger man chuckled, "it's all set up?"

Mike nodded sharply. "Oh yeah, they'll be watching him till we nail him, which shouldn't take long. And if he runs, then we have reason to arrest so…" he shrugged with a dry chuckle, "we've got our bases covered. I've passed it over to Grabowski and Bennett; they just wrapped the Scarborough case and they're next up. They're going through the Foster file now." He leaned back and sighed sadly. "I'll, ah… I want to be the one to tell the Fosters the truth, I think they deserve to hear it from me… when the time comes…"

Sobering, Steve nodded, "Yeah…"

Suddenly Mike perked up. "Say, ah, what was it in there…" he nodded in the direction of the interrogation room, "that got you all excited?"

Frowning for a split second as if trying to remember, Steve's eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward. "Oh yeah… it was something you said about why did he do it here? And I thought, well, what if this isn't the first time he's done something like this since he killed the Foster kid…?" He shrugged uncertainly and watched as his partner frowned and leaned forward.

"Yeah, that crossed my mind too, just as those words were coming out of my mouth… " he admitted with a dry chuckle.

"Well, let's get Grabowski and Bennett to do a little digging on that too… maybe after they nail him for Hancock's murder…? But I want get the little psycho behind bars first and then we can pile on, don't you agree?"

Mike smiled. "I like the way you think, Inspector." He leaned back again and stretched then glanced at his watch. "Listen, ah, it's getting late and we've had a pretty full day, haven't we? Why don't we call it a day and start fresh with all these files tomorrow morning… And hopefully we can start to drive that final nail into either Rochford or Bayner's coffin before I have to retire from old age," he chuckled as he started to get to his feet.

Steve was halfway up when he froze and looked at the older man curiously. Was Mike aware of what he had just said in jest, he wondered to himself, swallowing a smile as the realization suck in that his partner was well and truly back. Straightening up as casually as he could, starting to roll his sleeves down as Mike did the same before reaching into his desk drawer for the .38 and snapping it on his belt, Steve strolled back to his desk, almost afraid to say anything as the unstated significance of the moment registered.

It had been a hellacious two months for both of them in similar and yet startlingly different ways but they seemed to be coming out the other side of the very long and very dark tunnel that had been their summer.

Shrugging on his suitcoat, his hat sitting lopsidedly on his head, Mike paused beside Steve's desk, waiting for his partner to finish putting a couple of sensitive items in a lower drawer and snagging his jacket from the back of his chair. Then, without a word, they crossed to the door together.

# # # # #

"My list is now three pages long!" Chuckling, Steve raised his voice so it would carry through the open door into Mike's office.

"Who's idea was this anyway?" Mike called back, laughing. "He oughta be fired!"

Picking up the pad, Steve crossed to the office and dropping heavily into the guest chair, continuing to chuckle. He tossed the pad onto the still cluttered desk. "Listen, ah, why don't we start to winnow this down…?"

Tossing his pen on the desk and taking off his glasses, Mike sat back, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. "I'm listening," he sighed with a smile.

"Why don't we take a page out of Lee's book and use those two rookies, Jenkins and Clarkson I think it is… to start making calls and paring this," he pointed at both lists of names, "down so it's manageable. What do you think?"

Mike had been staring at him expressionlessly. He took a deep breath. "I am liking the way you think more and more, Inspector." He grinned suddenly and sat forward, slapping his left hand on the yellow pad before him on the desk. He looked towards the door. "Lessing!" he bellowed, and they both chuckled as they watched the young black inspector shoot to his feet and hustle to the office door, frowning worriedly.

"Relax, relax," Mike laughed, holding up his hands before pointing at his partner. "Steve has a great idea he wants you to help us with."

Sagging with relief, Lessing looked from one partner to the other. "Sure, shoot."

# # # # #

Steve crossed to the inner office door and leaned against the frame. "So they're all set up and they've started making calls already."

Mike looked up, taking his glasses off. "Good. Good work, both of you. That's going to save us a lot of time." He pointed at the pad in front of him. "So I've got the list of owners of that warehouse for the past couple of years – it sure did change hands a lot, didn't it?" he asked semi-rhetorically. "And I definitely want to talk to them all, but I have another idea too." He waved the younger man in and, frowning, Steve dropped into the guest chair.

Mike pointed at the list again. "Now I know none of these names leaps out at us, none of them are connected to this case, as far as we know, right? But I'm still trying to figure out why that particular warehouse? I mean, I doubt very much it was selected at random, right? So there had to be some connection to either Bayner or, more likely, Rochford, right?"

Steve nodded with a facial shrug then added, "Or Goodman…"

Mike winced and bobbled his head. "Yeah but I'm thinking probably not…" he said slowly. "Anyway, before we start making inquiries into all these people, I want you to get a hold, somehow… and I'll leave that up to you," he said with an almost evil smile and a chuckle, "Rochford's family tree…"

Steve's face went blank. "What?" he almost whispered.

Mike's smile got a little wider. "I know it sounds… far-fetched-"

"Ludicrous," Steve said simultaneously and Mike paused, glowering.

"But," the older man continued pointedly, "I think this is a woman who can manipulate and hoodwink people, especially members of her own family, and I have a hunch," he emphasized the word, "that that's what she did here." He finished with a glare, as if daring the younger man to contradict him and his famous hunches.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and closed his mouth again. "Her family tree…?"

Mike nodded. "Umh-humh. Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins… as many leaves on as many branches as you can go."

"And where am I supposed to find that?"

The older man shrugged. "Records?... Hey, you're the one with the college degree, not me…"

"In criminology, not genealogy!"

Mike 's face went blank. "I didn't say anything about getting Jeannie involved in all this…" he started innocently, stopping with a snort and biting his lips when the younger man scowled at him with a snarl. Grinning and chuckling, Mike laced his hands over his stomach and leaned back in his chair. "Well then think of this as an opportunity to expand your horizons."

"My horizons have expanded enough, thank you." Steve frowned, glaring at his partner from under his furrowed brow, then he shook his head slowly and began to smile as he got to his feet. Mike watched him go with a smug grin.

As Steve reached his desk, he heard, "Bet you're having second thoughts about me coming back to work now, aren't you?" through a cackling chuckle and he sank into his chair, shooting an ironic grin back towards the inner office with a warm laugh and shake of his head.

# # # # #

Mike glanced up, smothering a smile, when he saw his partner appear at the anteroom door and cross to his desk, a large manila envelop in one hand and an exhausted and slightly frustrated look on his face. The younger man threw the envelope on the desk then slowly tugged off his jacket and dumped it on the back of the chair; his tie and collar button were already undone.

Picking up the envelope again, he turned sluggishly towards the inner office just in time to see his partner crossing to the coat rack, sticking the fedora on his head and picking up the suitcoat. Steve stopped abruptly. "Where are you going?" His tone was flat and slightly peeved.

"Humh?" Mike grunted, smiling slightly, eyebrows on the rise. "Oh, ah, it's quitting time… I'm going home…"

Steve held up the envelope. "But I just got here…" he mumbled, "I spent all day in Records…"

Still smiling, Mike shrugged. "I'll look at it tomorrow…" He stepped past the younger man and headed across the bullpen, slipping his jacket on as he walked. Steve turned, watching him go with a confused and slightly pissed off frown.

Mike got all the way into the anteroom before he stopped, laughing, and spun back. He retraced his steps into the bullpen, grinning. "Did you honestly think I was just going to leave…?" He started back towards his office, taking the jacket off again. "Boy oh boy, you must be tired…" he chuckled, staring at his partner as he shouldered past him again, hanging the jacket up and crossing around to his chair. Leaving his hat on, he sat, gesturing at the guest chair. "Well, don't just stand there, sit. Tell me what you spent all day finding out."

Steve remained at the doorway for several long seconds, staring at his grinning partner expressionlessly then, growling lowly with a mirthless smile, sauntered almost insolently into the room and lowered himself onto the empty chair. Still staring at the older man, he held the envelope up and slid the contents out.

Mike bit his lips and quietly cleared his throat, desperately trying to suppress a laugh, knowing he was on the razor's edge of going too far. Very slowly, his right hand moved towards the top right drawer and slowly opened it, trying not to make any noise. Still meeting the younger man's eyes, he reached into the drawer, felt around briefly then brought his hand out, leaning across the desk to drop something then sitting back again and smiling warmly.

Steve's green eyes slid slowly from his partner's to the desk and he froze.

Mike cleared his throat again. "I, ah, I thought you might need a little pick-me-up when you got back…" He shrugged slightly.

Steve stared at the object on the desk then closed his eyes and shook his head. He started to laugh softly and, relieved, Mike joined him. Finally smiling, Steve held the papers and envelop across the table; Mike took them with a grin as the younger man reached for the 3 Musketeers chocolate bar.

Chuckling, Mike sat back in the chair, his eyes starting to flick across the top page. "So, ah, you find anything interesting?"

Steve had opened one end of the chocolate bar and taken a big bite. Chewing, he pointed towards the papers in his partner's hand. "Page three…"

Frowning, Mike flipped a couple of pages over, scanning the third page quickly. Suddenly his eyes stopped moving and his head came up. "Are you serious?"

Smiling around a mouthful of chocolate and nougat, Steve nodded. "That was one hell of a hunch you had there, Lieutenant."

Mike looked back at the page and shook his head. He smiled to himself. Then he leaned forward quickly and put the papers and envelope on the desk. "Come on," he said almost urgently, gesturing for the younger man to stand. "We've both had a long day and we need a good meal. On me." He got up and crossed around the desk to the coat rack. "Come on," he gestured again, grabbing his jacket. "We're going to have a very busy and satisfying day tomorrow, buddy boy… and we deserve a little, oh I don't know, a little early celebration."

Finally grinning, Steve got to his feet. My god it felt good to have that man back in his life.


	110. Chapter 110

Carole Rochford looked up expressionlessly when the door opened and the two homicide detectives walked in. With a nod at the guard, who stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, they moved deeper into the windowless room, the younger one dropping a manila file folder onto the table before they both sat.

With a sideways glance at his client, Delacroix leaned forward, holding a pen lightly in both hands, his forearms resting on a yellow legal pad on the table before him. "So, ah, so to what do we owe the pleasure, gentlemen?" His cold eyes slid from one cop to the other, settling on the inspector. The lieutenant hadn't even bothered to take his hat off, as if telling them this meeting was going to be short and to the point.

With a mirthless smile, Steve opened the folder, pulling it closer. He looked up from the top page to meet Rochford's dead eyes staring at him. "You're good," he began slowly, nodding with a facial shrug. "I have to admit, you're good. You almost had us convinced that Martin Bayner was the guilty one, that he was the one that killed your husband… And you would've gotten away with it too but…" He shook his head with a snort, looking down at the file again, taking a page from his partner's manual again and letting her squirm a little.

She blinked but otherwise didn't move.

Smiling slightly again, he raised his head. "But, you know, there's a lot of… loose ends you gotta tie together when you conspire to do something illegal and then cover it up… and that's really hard to do…" He chuckled dryly. "Just ask Richard Nixon, right…?" From the corner of his eye he saw Mike glance at him and smother a smile.

Clearing his throat, Steve pressed on. "And covering up a murder… well, that's the hardest conspiracy of all, isn't it? I mean, someone's eventually going to talk, to get themselves off the hook… It's human nature, isn't it?"

Delacroix cleared his throat. "Is there a point to all this?" he asked sharply.

Both detectives stared at him coldly. Choosing to ignore the interruption, Steve let his eyes slide slowly back to Rochford, who was still watching him without expression. Mike continued to stare at her lawyer, effectively shutting him up.

"Do you know what your loose end was, Mrs. Goodman?" Steve asked conversationally, intentionally using her married name. He looked at her with raised eyebrows for a long beat, not really expecting a reply and, when it didn't come, he shrugged slightly and chuckled. "Well, I'm gonna tell you." He leaned forward, decreasing the distance between them, staring into her dead eyes. "The warehouse…"

She flinched. It was infinitesimal, but to the detectives it was like she had confessed. Resisting the urge to look at each other, they continued to stare at her, both hearts pounding harder. They got her. They both saw Delacroix close his eyes and drop his head; he knew the game was over.

Steve glanced down at the file then looked up quickly, unable to contain the very faint smug smile that played over his lips. "Benjamin Delaney." He leaned back slightly. "You know him, right?" She didn't move but her blink rate increased. "Well, _you _might not want to admit it but he did…" He nodded in his partner's direction. "Mike and I went to see him this morning. He's not a very happy man right now, Mr. Delaney… Life's not been too kind to him recently. His company went out of business – oh, you do about his company, right?" he asked facetiously.

Her lips tightened but she didn't move, continuing to stare into his eyes defiantly.

"Ah, Markham & Sons Importers, right? He worked for them for years, he told us. They were a real going concern there for years and he bought in as a partner, oh when…? Almost fifteen years ago I think he said. Thought it was going to be his gold mine, his retirement package…" He grimaced and shook his head. "Didn't turn out that way, did it? Seems that one of Mr. Markham's sons had a gambling problem and daddy kept bailing him out and gutted the company… Nobody knew until it was too late… And there wasn't even anything left to sell to stave off bankruptcy…"

Steve paused then smiled coldly. "Except for that warehouse… That was a prime piece of real estate a few years ago but, well, we're in a recession now, aren't we?" He looked to Rochford for confirmation but got only a blank stare in reply. "Well, we are, so… And no one has the extra money lying around to buy a warehouse that size." He snorted and smiled. "But that all worked to your advantage, didn't it?"

The muscles in her jaw tightened.

He looked down at the file again and flipped a page. "Delaney… That's your aunt's married name, isn't it? Your mom's sister…?" He looked up at her from under a lowered brow, pinning her with a cold stare. She swallowed heavily. His smile got wider. "Benjamin Delaney is your uncle, isn't he?" She didn't move, didn't blink. "Oh, you don't have to answer, we know that already." He chuckled.

Mike shifted in his chair, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms, a slight smile playing over his lips. Her eyes snapped to him briefly and they could both see her fear.

"We, ah, we talked to him this morning, Mike and I. When we told him what we knew, he was more than willing to make a deal. After all, he has four kids, doesn't he? Your cousins. And he doesn't want to have to leave them and his wife and spent time in jail… which, of course, he would as part of the conspiracy to kill and dispose of your husband." Steve studied her carefully for a couple of seconds. "He must've really loved you to let you use his warehouse like that… or didn't you tell him until after it was all over? He told us you told him you wanted to store something there for a few days… a car. A very specific car, wasn't it? That cherry red Chevelle.

"But that's not really why you wanted access to that warehouse, was it? You wanted to kill your husband there. And you didn't expect your uncle to walk in on you after you'd clubbed him to death with a tire iron, did you?"

She was staring at him unblinking, her nostrils flaring slightly. Delacroix's eyes were wide, transfixed.

"He froze, he said… your uncle. He didn't know what to say, what to do… but you did, didn't you? You told him that your husband had been abusing you and having affairs and that you'd finally had enough. You'd followed him to San Francisco and caught him in a hotel room with another woman and that you persuaded him to drive you here, to the warehouse, so you could be alone and talk about your marriage problems…" He snorted dryly. "He didn't believe you, you know, your uncle… He told us he said he did because he was afraid of you at that moment… you'd just beaten your husband to death so he went along with what you said. He even helped you put your husband's body in the trunk, wrapped up in some heavy canvas bags that were lying around the warehouse."

He smiled coldly. "That's why we didn't find any blood in the trunk of the Chevelle, and no bloody canvas bags in Bayner's garage – your uncle told you to get rid of them, that they had the company logo on them. Did Martin burn them in that backyard barbeque of his?"

Her eyes widened slightly and they knew they were right.

"Everything was working out for you, wasn't it? You're husband was dead and your uncle was sworn to secrecy, but there was one little glitch… that huge puddle of blood on the warehouse floor. Head wounds bleed a lot, Carole," he said almost softly, using her given name for the first time. "And that was a very big stain…"

Steve smiled again and leaned forward, casually resting his forearms on the table.

"Your uncle told us he had a solution to that little difficulty… and it would've solved his problems as well. He hired a guy to torch the place, for the insurance of course, but the guy got picked up for another arson before he could do the job and your uncle couldn't find anybody else… and then that little car thief took refuge in that self-same warehouse and, as they say, the rest brings us to the end of your story…"

With a satisfied smile, he sat back and closed the file, staring at her without moving. After several long, immobile seconds she dropped her head and they all heard a very faint sigh.

Delacroix looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows.

"We've already talked to the D.A.," the younger cop said to him softly but firmly, "and the charges against Mrs. Goodman are being amended… to murder in the first with special circumstances." He looked at the top of her head. "It was pre-meditated, the entire way…" He picked up the file folder as he stood.

Mike, who had been watching him with a faint smile, started slightly, uncrossing his arms and getting to his feet, his smile getting a little bigger. As Steve moved to the door and reached for the knob, Mike turned back towards the table, looking at Delacroix. "ADA O'Brien will be contacting you about a plea… I suggest you take it," he said coldly as he followed his partner out into the hallway.

The guard slipped back into the room as they walked past him and closed the door. They paused, looking at each other for a long second then Steve exhaled heavily and shook his head. Mike chuckled and clapped the younger man on the shoulder as they started down the short corridor to the heavy metal door that led out into the main reception area.

After a few moments of silence, Mike glanced at his watch. "Hey, ah, it's getting late and we've had a pretty full day. Why don't we call it a night? Jeannie heads back to Arizona next week and I'd like to spend as much time as I can with her before she leaves…" He looked at the floor, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.

Steve smiled warmly. "Yeah, I can understand that…" He glanced sideways at his partner, at the fatherly pride and inevitable melancholy warring on the strong features.

After a short pause, Mike chuckled softly and looked at the younger man. "You did a helluva job in there, you know that, right? First class, all the way…"

Steve chuckled, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you," he acknowledged quietly.

"No, I mean that," Mike insisted, frowning, taking a hand out of his pocket and grabbing his partner's elbow, pulling him to a momentary stop.

Grinning, Steve nodded. "I know you do, and I appreciate it, I really do." He patted the older man's shoulder before heading down the corridor again.

Chuckling, Mike started after him, jogging a couple of steps to catch up. "Listen, ah, let's head up to the office and you can dump that," he nodded towards the file, "and we can both check for messages and then you can drive me home and have the night to yourself. How does that sound?"

"I do like the sound of that, Lieutenant, I really do," Steve chuckled affectionately as they stopped in front of the elevators and he punched the UP button.

# # # # #

Mike was leading the way into the bullpen when Inspector Grabowski shot to his feet at his desk across the large office and approached them quickly, a piece of foolscap in his hand.

"Mike!" he called and the lieutenant stopped so abruptly that Steve almost bumped into him.

Frowning over his shoulder quickly, Mike turned to face the blond inspector. "Yeah?"

"Mike, we got one." Grabowski was having a hard time containing his enthusiasm.

Chuckling, Mike raised both hands. "You've got one what, Dave?" he asked patiently.

Grabowski took a breath. "That Jeremy Walker kid you asked Bob and me to look into…? He lived in San Diego for three years when the family left town just after John Foster was killed here in The City. They changed their names to Peterson. And three years after they moved there a fifteen-year-old Brian Alan Peterson was involved in the shooting death of a young man in a park in San Diego. He said he was showing his father's gun to a friend when it accidentally went off. They didn't charge him because he was a juvenile and they had no reason to suspect it was anything but an accident."

Mike's mildly curious expression had hardened and he glanced at his partner, who met his suddenly dark eyes with concerned ones of his own. He turned back to Grabowski. "Oh yeah…?" he said with a mirthless chuckle. "Well, we have reason to suspect it was just the opposite, don't we?"

Grabowski nodded vigorously. "Oh, yeah, there was one other thing…" His wide eyes travelled from his boss to his colleague and back again; he had their undivided attention. "The name of kid he killed in San Diego…was Darcy McMillen."


	111. Chapter 111

**Well, friends, I have run out of steam and fresh ideas (for now); it's been a marathon**

**and I am tired. So I am going to leave our favourite guys for awhile and recharge**

**my batteries, but I will be back. Many many thanks to everyone who stuck with me**

**and for my very faithful reviewers and cheerleaders who kept me going. **

Mike stared at the young blond inspector with widening eyes. "You're kidding…?" he finally muttered, almost under his breath. He glanced at Steve then dropped his head and shook it. "The little bastard…" He inhaled deeply, and his partner could tell he was trying to control his mounting anger.

The lieutenant raised his head, meeting Grabowski's eyes evenly. "Dave, I want you and Bob to work with Steve and me on this one." He glanced at his watch, grimacing. "The uniforms are still sitting on him, right?"

Grabowski nodded.

"Okay, well, it's too late right now to go anywhere on this… I want to talk to Lenny then have him come with us to talk to Gerry. I want to find out what we're dealing with here and I want to make sure we have him dead to rights so the little bastard doesn't wiggle out of it again." He paused for a second, letting his words sink in. "Let's all of us meet here tomorrow morning at 8 and I'll set everything up with Lenny and Gerry."

Grabowski nodded. "I'll tell Bob." He turned to head back to his desk but stopped when his boss called his name.

Mike smiled warmly. "Great job, Dave," he said with a nod as, behind him, Steve did the same, with a grin and bobbing eyebrows.

Smiling embarrassedly, Grabrowski droped his head. "Thanks, Mike."

Turning to his partner, Mike chuckled dryly then sobered quickly. "You know, I was kinda hoping we were wrong about this…"

"Yeah, me too," Steve agreed softly. He exhaled loudly. "Listen, ah, let's get you home and we'll start fresh tomorrow. Maybe we can put two cases to bed… that'd be nice, wouldn't it."

Mike snorted. "You got that right." He started towards his office, stopping at the door and staring at the stacks of files on his desk and floor, then looked back at Steve's desk, which looked the same. "You know, we gotta figure out what the hell we're gonna do with all these files too."

Looking at his own desk, Steve chuckled. "Well, we could stuff 'em all back in the cabinets and take them back to their office…?" he suggested feebly.

Mike was shaking his head and grimacing. "Nope, no way… I want those filing cabinets. We can use them… We just need to get rid of the files." He paused then waved ineffectually towards his desk. "Ah, I'll think about all that later… I just want to go home." Chuckling, he entered the office and crossed around to the far side of the desk, checking under the phone for messages.

# # # # #

"So how do you think Steve's handling the whole Mel thing?" Jeannie asked, a forkful of lasagna halfway to her mouth.

Chewing, her father tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. After he swallowed, he looked at her and shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not really sure. He hasn't mentioned her at all. I mean, it's not liked he talked about her all the time when they were together, but he's just clammed up about her completely. Like she never existed." He cut off another piece of his lasagna with his fork.

Jeannie looked at him, frowning. "Well, I'm not surprised. Something like that is really hard to talk about, especially to someone you're really close to. It's easier to talk about something like that to a stranger."

Mike froze slightly and she realized he was reacting to what she said, about he and Steve being close. She knew her father was well aware of how special the relationship he shared with his much younger partner had been and continued to be, but she also knew the reality of it sometimes caught him by surprise. He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "I guess…"

She stared at him with a soft smile. He glanced at her as he put another forkful of dinner into his mouth, frowning. "What?" he asked around the lasagna and she grinned, shaking her head.

"Nothing…" she said lightly, going back to her pasta, the smile remaining. "Say, ah, I hear the Pirates are in town, you think we can get Steve to join us for a game?"

He smiled as he swallowed. "I'll ask him."

She nodded, focusing on her meal again. Suddenly her head came up. "Hey, you haven't had the chance to hear the entire Barry White album yet…"

He frowned. "The entire what?"

She made a face at him. "Not a 'what', a 'him'. Barry White… That album I was playing the night…" She rolled her eyes and waggled her head. "You know…"

"Oh _that_ night…?" he chuckled evilly.

"Yeah, _that_ night. Anyway, you said you thought it was good and you wanted to hear the whole thing. Why don't I play it tonight while I beat your butt at crib?" she asked dryly, looking down at her plate innocently.

"Ah, I think we can listen to it while _I_ beat _your _butt at cribbage is what you meant to say, right?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Not tonight, buster. Tonight I am finally going to send you to bed crying the tears of a loser…" She set her jaw and stared at him, trying not to laugh.

He stared back at her, frowning. "Keep dreaming, sweetheart, keep dreaming," he said calmly, going back to lasagna.

# # # # #

He carefully carried the steaming hot bowl of macaroni-and-cheese into the living room, setting it carefully on the coffee table before returning to the kitchen for the ice cold glass of beer. Sitting on the sofa, he picked up the fork and took a tentative bite, wary of the heat.

Deciding to let it cool for a bit, he shifted his weight to take his wallet out of his back pocket. He opened it, taking out two twenty dollar bills, then tossed the wallet on the coffee table.

There was a pen and a long white envelope already on the table. He picked up the pen and addressed the envelop from memory then sat back with a frustrated growl; he'd forgotten to pick up some stamps.

Shaking his head in annoyance, he put the two bills in the envelope and sealed it. He reached towards the far end of the couch where he had tossed his jacket and pulled it closer, slipping the envelope into the inside pocket so he would remember it tomorrow.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he returned to his dinner.

# # # # #

"So what was that term that Lenny used… malignant narcissist?"

Steve glanced across the front seat. "No, he said Walker is most likely a sociopath but he can't sign off on that diagnosis until he examines him a few times."

"I know that, I remember what he said. I was talking about those other… syndromes he was talking about. I was trying to figure out if I know any malignant narcissists?" Mike chuckled, looking at the younger man's profile with an eyebrow-raised grin.

Shaking his head, Steve chuckled. "So can you think of any?"

Frowning, Mike shrugged. "I'm not sure… but I think I know a couple of sociopaths…" he laughed and Steve joined him.

Steve turned a corner then pulled the moss green LTD to the curb behind the battered maroon Ford Falcon already parked halfway down the long block. A tan Galaxie pulled in behind them and a black-and-white slid to a stop on the other side of the street. Within seconds, the occupants of all four cars were huddled on the sidewalk beside the LTD.

Mike took them all in with a nod then turned his attention to the two plainclothes detectives from the Galaxie. "Okay, fellas, like I told you back at the shop, this one's all yours. You did all the heavy lifting on this one and so you should get the pleasure. Steve and I are just here to see the look on his face, that's all," he chuckled, patting Grabowski on the shoulder. He looked at the two undercover officers from the Falcon they had parked behind. "He's still in his apartment?"

The older of the two nodded. "He sure is. He went out for dinner last night around 7… The night shift guys followed him. He went to a dive around the corner and was back an hour later and he hasn't stirred since."

"There's no back door, right?" Mike asked and three people nodded, the two stake-out cops and Steve. Mike glanced at his partner and smiled. "Oh, yeah, you were back there, I forgot." He chuckled and looked back at the others. "Okay then I want you two," he pointed at the uniformed officers, "to position yourselves under the windows at the back of the building. He, ah, he's used that exit before," he chuckled again, flashing another quick look at his smiling partner. "Okay, fellas, shall we do this?"

There were nods all around and the six plainclothes officers headed towards the front door while the two uniforms headed down the alley between the two buildings Steve indicated. The two undercover cops stayed by the front door as Mike led the way to the second floor then allowed Grabowski and Bennett to pass him when they got to the second floor.

The blond inspector raised his right fist and knocked. There was no sound from the other side of the door and he exchanged a worried frown with his partner. Mike raised his right forefinger. "Wait a second," he mouthed and froze, cocking his head. After a couple of long seconds he nodded, whispering "Announce yourself."

Grabowski pounded on the door again. "Walker, this is the police! Open up!"

There was a sudden scramble on the other side of the door, like the sound of a chair being jammed under the doorknob then the heavy thud of retreating feet. Grabowski threw at look at his colleagues then took a step back in preparation for throwing himself against the door.

Mike raised both hands quickly. "No!" he almost yelled and Grabowski froze. "You won't get it open and you'll just break your shoulder." The blond inspector and his partner frowned at their boss, waiting for him to continue but he didn't. Mike had turned towards Steve who in turn was looking back down the staircase towards the first floor.

The front door opened and one of the undercover cops stuck his head in. "They've got him!" he yelled. "Stupid little bastard went out the window!"

Chuckling, Mike and Steve exchanged a look and a smile and started slowly down the stairs.

"Ah, Mike," Grabowski began tentatively, and the lieutenant stopped midway down the steps, turning back. "Ah, we have a search warrant as well." He pointed towards the closed apartment door. "How are we supposed to get in?"

Mike stared at him for a long beat then looked over his shoulder at his partner, who had stopped a little further down the stairs and was watching with a soft smile. Finally the older man shrugged. "Well, it's your case, Dave…. Yours and Bob's. You two are just gonna have to figure that out on your own 'cause Steve and I are outa here." He started the rest of the way down the stairs. "Good luck!" he called over his shoulder, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

They stepped out onto the sidewalk as Walker was dragged out from between the two buildings, his hands cuffed behind his back. The uniformed officers pulled him to a halt in front of the two homicide detectives. Walker was staring down at the sidewalk.

"Hello, again, Jeremy," Mike said casually. There was no response. "I bet you didn't expect to see us again so soon, did you?" No response. "Well, I guess you didn't think we were smart enough to figure out that you couldn't possibly have gone nine years without… feeding that need of yours, did you?" There was still no response but Walker became even more still, and Mike knew he had struck a nerve.

Flashing a glance at his partner, Mike squatted so he could look up into Walker's downturned face, the fingertips of both hands touching the sidewalk to balance himself. He could see the cold, hard dark eyes staring at him and he smiled. "San Diego," he said quietly, and though the eyes didn't change, he knew what those two words meant.

Chuckling, he stood up again, trying not to groan, and nodded to the officers. "He's all yours."

Without resistance, Walker was propelled towards the black-and-white and pushed into the back seat.

Mike turned to his partner and smiled. "That felt good, didn't it?"

Steve laughed and slapped the older man on the shoulder. "It sure did." He glanced at his watch. "Listen, ah, it's just after one. You wanna hit Mama's for a late lunch? It's on me."

Mike's head went back and he frowned. "On you? Why the largesse?"

"Largesse? You doing crossword puzzles again?"

"Ha ha. No, I'm serious, what's brought this on?"

"Nothing's brought it on," Steve insisted, starting towards the LTD. "I just want to buy you lunch. You have a problem with that?"

Mike started to chuckle as he followed. "No no no, no problem at all." He reached for the passenger side door as Steve circled the car to the far side. He was still smiling when they settled into the front seat and Steve reached to put the key in the ignition.

The younger man's eyes snapped to something in his inner jacket pocket and he froze for split second. "Damn it!" he growled under his breath.

"What?"

Steve looked across the front seat and tilted his head with a heavy sigh. "I forgot to buy a stamp."

"Buy a stamp? You got something to mail? Just put it in the out basket in the office."

"It's personal," Steve said quietly.

"Oh," Mike echoed his tone, "personal… Would, ah, would it be something you're trying send to Mel?"

His hand on the key, Steve froze. "How did you know?"

Mike shrugged. "Just a guess… that's all. Nothing… supernatural." He smiled warmly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring her up –"

"No no, it's okay…" Slowly the younger man took the envelope out of his pocket. "I, ah… she leant me forty dollars when we were in Tahoe… to pay for the distributor cap…" There was a catch in his throat as everything came back, everything they had been through for the past two months, everything that had begun on that fateful day that had almost changed their lives forever.

Mike nodded gently. "Where, ah, where does she live?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Ah, not too far from here."

"Then why don't we just drive by her place and you can put it in her mailbox… and then we'll head over to Mama's. On you." The older man smiled broadly. "How does that sound?"

Steve stared at him for a long second, unable to stop his eyes from welling up "Yeah, let's do that," he agreed quietly, turning the key in the ignition. He was just about to shift into Drive when he felt his partner's hand on his arm. He looked across the front seat.

"Listen, Steve, I know how hard it's been, I really do. But I want you to listen to me on this…" Mike smiled affectionately. "I'm not trying to be melodramatic here but… You're gonna lose me soon enough… but I don't want to make it any earlier when I don't have to." His smile got a little wider. "I don't have to and I don't want to. So, for now… and hopefully for several more years… I guess you're stuck with me."

They stared at each other for several long seconds, neither man moving, then Mike winked. Swallowing heavily, Steve turned the key and the powerful engine roared to life. And, both of them wearing warm, comfortable smiles, the LTD pulled away from the curb into traffic.


End file.
